And I hold my breath
by smilingcrescent
Summary: Harry has been a little off since the graveyard. He sees more than a closed door in his nightly visions, and he's losing his grasp on reality. (Excerpt) Harry clenched his fists. "You are him. Or a part of him. There's no fooling me." At that, Tom smiled cruelly. "Sweet little broken bird. You are curious about me." (Eventual slash) (Alternate year 5) (Crazy Odd Harry)
1. Summer's Passing

**Warnings:** Harry is a little unstable. Also this will be **slash!** TMR/HP (or HP/TMR, whichever…) This means homosexual romance, but rest assured (or be forewarned) there will be **no** smut/lemons/pr0n. I don't write explicit bedroom scenes. But there will be snogging. Oh yes, lots of that.

Warning/Note: This is something of a **mystery. Why** Tom turns up is part of the mystery and **why** Harry is troubled is related. It should be mostly explained by chapter 10 or 11, so stick with it (or skip to chapter 11 to read the recap/ cliff notes at the end).

Don't forget: this is supposed to be…fun... Really. Have fun. Enjoy the eventual kissing. (Slow build-up though.)

**Inspired by** _The Drowning Girl._ , which also features a not-sane main character, though the novel is more serious than my fanfic.

Also inspired by some crazy!Harry fanfic. or "Otherwise odd" stories by the esteemed authors Paimpont, evansentranced , Uncle Stojil , Mede, and Sarah1281, and probably a few others. Read their stories! (google, or check my favs) You will be awed and amused.

There will only be a few long A/Ns (I hope :)

* * *

oOoOoOo

**Chapter 1:** _Summer's Passing_

Following the night in the graveyard, Harry Potter thought he was dead for nearly twenty-four hours without anyone noticing.

_"My God, Diggory! Dumbledore, He's dead." _

_"He's dead! He's dead! Cedric Diggory! Dead!" _They'd said. Somehow, the name didn't seem to matter. Harry knew, deep down, that they were talking about _him_. He'd seen his parents, he'd dueled with Voldemort, and his fingers were stiff with death in them. Rigor mortis, he'd thought.

Dumbledore seemed to see him in spite of his being quite gone, and then Moody, who turned out not to be Moody, ushered him from that place in the castle. Harry nearly died there, in the False-Moody's office. He hadn't expected that. He should have. Something told him he should have died. Then Dumbledore and McGonagal were there, urging Harry's body to the Hospital Wing, to lie beside Cedric's. Or had he only imagined that?

_"I will be closer than all of them, closer than a son."_

The ending speech, the questions from Ron and Hermione—he couldn't remember hardly anything after that day. He finally realized he _wasn't_ dead, but he still didn't feel like talking. It felt wrong. Voldemort was back, and the imposter had gotten the Kiss, and Harry was sent away again to the Dursley's.

The summer passed in ways very different than before. "_He's just sitting there, Vernon! Don't know what's going on in that head…his eyes…his eyes aren't sane._" Petunia said once.

Uncle Vernon had harrumphed and bolstered her confidences, shoving a tool in Harry's hands and leading him toward the garden door. "_Don't come in until that hedge is good and trimmed._" That helped, actually. When he worked in the garden, he felt the most normal. But anything could set him off, a car in the neighborhood passing by sounded like the _pop_ of Apparating sometimes. The roar of the crowd on the neighbor's television reminded him of the Tasks. The summer had not been going as he planned, and even the hot, sweltering days couldn't burn away the memory of Cedric's cold body on his hands, or the touch of ropes around tombstones.

But some days were better than others. And it was on one of these good days, when Harry felt most like himself, that he went to the park. Harry sat on the swing-set, watching the sun set with growing apprehension. So he got up, deciding to finally head home after a long day of newspaper-snatching and eavesdropping-on-the-news-broadcasts.

"Where are you?" Harry muttered.

No owl came down bearing messages, and no wizard appeared to answer the question. His feet echoed dully on the pavement. Just one more street, and he'd be home.

He heard footsteps from behind, then a hasty trot to catch up with him—large, heavy, but not entirely precise.

Harry tensed, his fingers closing around his wand. But he didn't draw it, not yet.

"There you are." A low voice huffed.

Harry eased out of his stance, even allowed for a smile. "Hey Dudley." He called. Trying to relax, Harry imagined turning Dudley into a pig. Hagrid, he mused, would approve.

"Mum's going to kill you, being out this late." Dudley crowed. "You'll be roast meat."

That, Harry thought vaguely, was oddly considerate of Dudley. "You're just as late." He scowled. "Where were you?" he demanded. "Beating up on some kid?"

Dudley's face folded in on itself, the cheerful contemplation of Harry's fate interrupted. He took a moment to compose a reply. "No! I didn't. Don't..." He sputtered.

Harry smiled thinly, enjoying the look on Dudley's face. However, the feeling was short lived.

"I've been with _friends._ Not that you'd know. You haven't got any." Dudley rallied solidly. His grin was back. "Except for your boyfriend. Who was it again?" his face puckered. "No, no! Cedric!" he laughed. "Always crying into your pillow at night. Thought I couldn't hear you?"

Harry's face flushed. His hands wrapped around a wand that he was forbidden to use. He sighed and noisily turned away from Dudley. As he walked, he noticed a sudden darkening of the sky. Twilight seemed rushed, hurried along with the rushing of wind, and there was a dank, eerie feel that came over them all of a sudden. It was as though a blanket of depression settled around their shoulders.

_No._ he thought desperately. _Not here. Not now._ Harry stepped back hastily, his hand already making the right movements as he fought the fog and attempted to catch a clear memory. A happy memory.

"What are you doing?" Dudley demanded. "You're doing something funny!"

Harry ignored his cousin, focusing on the spell just behind his lips. There. He had it. _Hermione and Ron on the train to Hogwarts with him, their heads pressed close in discussion. His friends._ Harry opened his mouth. "_Expecto_-"

_wham._ Dudley's fist caught him by surprise, pushing the air out of his lungs and destroying the spell. Harry stared, dazed, at the light that sputtered out of his wand as his only weapon cascaded through the air. He watched as it disappeared in the oncoming darkness, and the Dementors edged closer on his vision.

The Patronus glimmered into nothingness there on the ground. "No- my wand!" Harry leapt after it, not noticing that the Dementors were clustering right in his path.

They were on him before he could stretch out his hands. _Just a little closer..._ Harry felt cold and unhappy. He vaguely wondered if Dementors were secretly the reason behind his not-depression this summer. Then, for the second time in his life, he felt the Dementor's strong grip, slimy and eerily tight. Everything seemed to flicker, to be shrouded in a thick mist.

Harry let out a short scream of frustration, arching away from the looming creature. He would _not_ let it end this way. He would _not-_

A familiar voice offered something to latch onto. "Ah man, not now! Why do you have to have a mental breakdown- more mental breakdown now where anyone could see you?" Dudley hissed. He blustered into the mist, ignorant to the danger.

Harry gaped as his cousin wavered for a moment, clearly caught in the Dementors's thrall. Harry had just enough clear thought to whisper a second spell. "Lumos!" He rolled towards his wand.

_Happy thoughts. Happy, happy thoughts. Not in the graveyard?_ No, that wasn't right..._Dudley__ is about to become a real soulless bully?_ Harry thrust that thought aside. _Not helping. Every flavor beans...learning to fly...catching the snitch..._Even as Harry tried to focus, to choose even a single semi-happy memory, a thought fought its way to the forefront of his mind. Harry actually grinned.

_He was back at Hogwarts, accepted and believed, sitting with friends at the hearth side. Pumpkin juice, Butterbeer, warm beds..._ He waved his hand without the wand yet in his grasp, and shouted, "_Expecto Patronum_!" and again, there were silvery sparks.

The Dementor paused, turning its head toward Harry in eerie semblance of curiosity.

Harry half-crawled, grabbing his fallen wand and performing the spell fluidly. Again, he called the memories back, settling on a more recent one this time:

_"This is just the thing for you, freak. Here!" Dudley shoved something soft into Harry's arms. "Now you can cry yourself to sleep like a little girl! Since you've been having _such a hard_ summer." Here Dudley regressed into making mocking baby noises which Harry tuned out._

_Harry took the plush toy, looking at it. It was a teddy bear, unusually new looking, soft and clean. Harry's eyes flashed, amused that Dudley would think this gift would anger him. Harry held it up to the light, his face expressionless. _

_Finally his eyes crinkled as he smiled and said in a light, slightly girlish tone, "Why thank you Dudley! I didn't know you cared. You see, teddy bears are very useful, in addition to being cute. True, they're well known even in the Muggle world, but they can be used for other things. Like flying," Harry made the bear 'fly' with a broad sweep of his arm. "And they're great for target practice...what better friend could I ask for?"_

_The horror and disbelief on Dudley's face sent Harry into fits of laughter. _Even surrounded by Dementors, his stomach felt funny- full of air and unspent laughter. Or indigestion.

"_Expecto patronum._" He laughed, only somewhat desperate, but the Dementor's breath was still so close. Just as its terrible mouth brushed his cheek, the magic sprang to life. He almost doubted it would work, but the Patronus glowed bright, sending the Dementors away.

There was a _woosh_ of air as the Patronus bowled the black-cloaked thing over before it cantered back to Harry, tossing its head. Harry's eyes were glued to it.

There had been a second Dementor, Harry realized, dazed, and his Patronus charged at it as well, driving it away and taking the darkness with it.

Only Dudley was left. Harry squinted before righting his glasses. The euphoria of the charm _working_ had passed, leaving him nauseated. He still couldn't quite decide what was happening. Harry wavered. Just as he was about to sit down (he was fairly certain he had knocked his head. Only without the actual hitting of anything that usually entailed) when a meaty hand clasped his shoulder, then moved under his arm, pulling his weight onto it.

Harry eyed the arm speculatively. It wasn't a Dementor.

It felt surreal, being half-heartedly dragged up by Dudley. Theoretically, they should be equally affected by the Dementors...if the mist and the haze hadn't been so very like the graveyard...

Except, Harry thought the Dementor had gotten significantly closer to kissing him than it had Dudley, which ought to horrify him. He was hyper-conscious of his surroundings, feeling his shoulders tense as some terrible beast with squeaking wheels neared them. His wand was up again, his eyes narrowed as he anticipated an other-worldly attack. The figure stepped into the faint glow of a street lamp.

It was .

She toted a plastic bag of cat food, and her eyes were round with fright. "Dudley? Dudley Dursley?" she called, a tremor of uncertainty in her voice. "Have you got...goodness, is that Harry?"

Harry stood there numbly, trying to figure out if she was another apparition.

"Put it away, you freak! She'll see!" Dudley hissed, his large hand squeezing overly hard on Harry's shoulder.

Mrs. Figg positively shook. "No, you stupid boy, don't put it away! What if more come around? I can't do anything about those horrible things," she looked around.

Harry looked from Dudley's open mouth to Mrs. Figg's swaying grocery bag. "Mrs. Figg? You could _see_ them? The Dementors?"

Mrs. Figg sniffed dramatically. "Use those legs, boy! Oh, where did that Mundungus Fletcher get off to at a time like this? He's meant to be the one watching over you..."

Hesitantly, both teenagers began walking down the road. The cat-lady could see Dementors. Someone was meant to be watching him. Harry felt light-headed and confused all over again. "Never said anything...all those cats and not a word...watching over me?" Harry mumbled.

Harried on by their neighbor, Dudley half dragged Harry home. "You'll get it now, calling those things, showing our neighbor. Would you _move?_" Dudley said, his voice oddly choked. "What's wrong with you?"

Harry hmmed, his eyes darting to the sky and back to Mrs. Figg. They were back to number four faster than he would have imagined, really. _Was Dudley flying?_ The thought was absurd...Dudley couldn't fly...too heavy...Hagrid couldn't fly..._I wonder if I put a feather light spell on him...or he on me..._

"You don't see a snake, do you?" Harry asked the probably-not-a-Dementor (probably just his large cousin, who moved faster than he thought).

For a moment, the expression on Dudley's face changed. Worried. Helpless fear and maybe…concern? It made him hesitate. He took a moment, just staring at Harry, his watery blue eyes sad.

Then he opened his mouth. "Mum! Dad! Harry's gone even more bonkers! And he did you-know-what!" Dudley gave Harry a scathing expression, and pushed away from the smaller boy.

This was more like it. No helping hands dragging him into safety...just a big brute trying to get him in trouble...Harry started to relax. "You're right. The snake wouldn't be here...there'd be more Death Eaters if the snake were here...do you think the Death Eaters brought the Dementors?"

"He's crazy!" Dudley hollered now that he was indoors. He shoved Harry against the wall, shirking his duty as walking-crutch.

There was a loud thunking noise from above.

Mrs. Dursley came scrambling out of the kitchen, her long neck out of sorts with her shaking shoulders. "You get away from my Dudley! Oh, Dudley, you're as white as a ghost!" Petunia gave a gasp. "Did you fall down? Did that wretched boy push you?" She was within Dudley-grabbing distance, and did so. Her hands were checking his skin, and his pulse, and who knew what else.

The loud thunking had resolved itself into footsteps, and the Beast of the family reared its ugly head. "You! What's this about you-know-what? This is it! This is the _last_ straw! You did _it_ to my boy, didn't you, you freak? Let's hear it! Dudley, what did he do to you?" Vernon blustered.

Harry sank to the floor, dazed and exhausted. Dudley, having escaped his mother's grasp, now sat in a chair. He was unresponsive to being fussed over by his mother while Vernon stared at his nephew.

Harry wondered if he ought to sneak away. There was something...cats...no, owls. Yes, owls. _An owl will be coming to break my wand because...magic..._Fear made Harry stumble to his feet. He looked to the windows, his eyes darting frantically.

"Explain!" Vernon demanded even as he followed Harry's gaze and grinned. Recognition lit his face. "You're not allowed to do…_magic_…out of school. I know you're not! Oh, now you've done it, you stupid boy. You'll be expelled! Yes!" He pumped a fist. His eyes were so wide that Harry could see whites all around his irises. He half expected to see excited spittle clinging to his uncle's mustache. This distracted him for a moment, making him miss the Ministry's owl as it swept in.

Harry's jaw set. He recognized the not-quite-red letter (red, the color of fire, red, r-e-d, 3 letters, carried by an owl, o-w-l, also 3 letters...) and snatched it before it could burst into flames.

Instead it began its recitation. "To Mr. Harry James Potter," the letter said reasonably, (and Harry thought,_no, that's too many letters..._) This is Mafalda Hopkirk, the Commander-in-Chief of the Improper Use of Magic Office, writing to inform you of a serious break in section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. On this night of 2 August, 1995, the Patronus Charm was cast in the Alleyway between Privet Drive and the Sunnyside Park at approximately 7:03 pm."

_There,_ Harry thought. _There's my three._

"We regret to inform you, that as this is the third offense recorded for Harry Potter, you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A Ministry official will be by your residence shortly to confiscate and destroy your wand. Any further magic or attempt to evade Ministry laws shall be punishable by law. Sincerely yours, Mafalda Hopkirk."

Vernon's eyes squinted into tiny crescents as his grin stretched into something manic. He actually held his breath, listening to the letter which was expelling his hated-nephew.

As the letter wound to a close, he let out his breath in an exuberant shout of, "Justice!" and gave a chortle.

"Justice?" Petunia repeated dully. "How is this justice? Now what do we do with him?" She shook her head, too frazzled to notice Vernon's dark look.

Aunt Petunia's words sunk in the way the letter (being only a piece of paper that spoke. _Not,_ he thought, _a howler._) had not. He wouldn't be going back to Hogwarts. He wouldn't join his friends on the train.

Then Vernon's expression was changing as he took in the moaning sight of his son. Dudley sat huddled in the chair, mumbling about depression and madness catching. "Dudley!" Vernon cried, just as another owl flew into the living room.

Petunia gave a screech, and Dudley an oddly high pitched yelp. Harry looked at the owl, uncertain if it wasn't the owl after all, who had made the noise.

Harry glanced expectantly at the letter before he took it. Inside, was a hastily scrawled note. "Harry, don't do anything. Mundungus told me what you and Mrs. Figg saw. Do not leave the house. Do not give up your wand. I will send for you soon. Dumbledore."

Harry turned it over in his hands, examining the parchment. This letter, unfortunately, did not read itself, so Harry was left imagining Dumbledore's tone. Would it be harried and lecturing? Or worried and grave? No, surely it must be warding and terrible. That would be interesting...

Belatedly, he recognized the foot that toed him, and then felt another meaty hand (this one more aged than Dudley's had been, but less callused, as though he'd lead a softer life) grab his shoulder. "You!" Vernon roared. The following words washed over him, all sounding the same (angry, fearful, loud).

Harry looked up at the owl, which had nothing better to do than look at him reproachfully. He imagined catching it, using it as a shield to the Ministry and their Laws and Regulations, and finding a secret flight-path back to Hogwarts.

Harry looked up into a very purple face. He seemed to have missed a rather exemplary lecture. Then he spoke over Vernon's self-righteous tones. "I'm to stay here." Harry said firmly. "I might be expelled," he lifted his chin, "but I'm not beaten!" There. That sounded properly defiant.

His words were undermined, though, by Vernon shoving him in the direction of the stairs, marching him away from the living room.

"We'll lock him up, we will." Vernon announced. "To your room. Now!" He toed Harry with one foot again and looked to his family.

Dudley moaned loudly, reliving the chain of events that had brought the letter to his mother. "First he got his _thing_ out, and then he started doing magic."

_Where is that sadness from before?_ Harry thought. Vernon had finally got him moving toward the second bedroom.

"It felt like there was no happiness in the world...but I punched him, and he started having a fit! And he did more magic...it was horrible."

"He's horrible." Petunia agreed, her voice flat.

Dudley's voice, high and winging, flew up the stairs behind Harry. "Why does he have to stay with us?"

Halfway dragged up the stairs, Harry considered making a teddy bear charm to cheer Dudley… (No more Dementors…happy thoughts…) but his wand would be broken. Except Dumbledore was spying…no, trialing…was that a word?

Forced into his room, Harry wobbled uncertainly on one foot, arms splayed as though preparing for a crash landing. Slowly, he lowered his limbs.

Hedwig hooted softly at him from her corner.

"Well. That didn't go well," Harry told the owl.

o0o0o0o0o

* * *

Harry was still waiting several days later, but no other owls had come. Then, unexpectedly, it all started happening at once.

Someone was downstairs. Several someones.

The Dursleys had left unexpectedly, all of them taking the car out shortly before dinner, but then there were noises. Suspicious ones. Harry listened near the second bedroom's (he still didn't think of it as 'his') door, trying to make out individual sounds. He thought he heard traces of someone talking...

He shook his head. But why? He didn't hear voices. Harry was sure of that, and there was no reason for Death Eaters to chit-chat as they came to abduct him from his home. No owl had informed him of Dumbledore's presence either.

Something clattered to the floor- followed by a woman's voice. Apologizing?

Finally, the door burst open. Remus Lupin and Mad Eye Moody stood there, flanked by several others he didn't recognize.

"Pack your things, Potter. And where's your wand? We could have attacked and killed you seven times over by now!"

Harry leaned sideways, counting the figures. "But there's only six of you," he felt obliged to point out. Then Harry looked closer at Moody, one thought jarring in his memory. "You were poly-juiced all last year." He looked over the rest of the people and took one step back, hiding his wand with his arm. It poked into his elbow. "How do I know you're not all doppelgangers?"

Lupin smiled faintly, his eyes as tired as ever. "Dumbledore sent us." He said simply, as though that was enough.

"Dumbledore?" Harry shook his head. "No letters. No word. I think he would have told me you were coming..." Harry raised an eyebrow, and decided to do a test. He pointed his wand discretely at Lupin's shoe, changing the color of one of the socks with a muttered spell.

"Your boggart was a Dementor. I taught you the Patronus charm." Lupin told Harry with a series of interesting expressions. "You saw me the night Sirius Black got away."

"I didn't know birds knew that..." Harry frowned. "Did Professor Lupin tell you? Are you his bird?" His question only brought about more uneasy staring. The smiles that had fluttered to a few faces fell away.

One of the figures coughed, while Moody laughed, showing yellowed teeth. "That's right. Constant vigilance!" He snorted. "Potter, that there is Kingsley Shackelbolt. Nymphadora Tonks, Emmeline Vance and Dedalus Diggle."

"Harry, have you packed?" Lupin asked, concern coloring his voice.

Behind him, the young woman with pink hair raised her eyebrows. "Not birds, Harry," she said, and he immediately liked her for not calling him _Potter._ "We're your vanguard. We'll fly by broom, though. Oh! And, um, we're Aurors."

Harry silently regarded her.

Fidgeting awkwardly then, she added, "Do you mind if I call you Harry?"

"Please." Harry replied, and wondered what he was supposed to pack. If he was supposed to pack. "By broom. Not flu? Floo...flew?"

"This isn't going to work, Moody. He's addled." One of the others said.

"You expect him to stay a-flight and avoid detection like that?" It sounded like another argument, so Harry stopped listening and started moving.

They packed his trunk for him, bundled him up in appropriate flying clothes, and sat him on his broom. Bemused, Harry watched as they took their places above, below, and to his sides, while Moody circled around, while the last one flew behind them. Supposedly.

Harry wondered what the Dursleys would make of him being gone when they got back...

Needless to say, he stayed on the broom. Staying aloft was easy, even if the birds had doubted it. Harry decided to show the birds how to fly on broomstick. The hours passed. The vanguard birds talked, and Harry flew.

After some time, they landed in the middle of a sidewalk. They clustered close around him even then, flexing stiff fingers and rolling their shoulders. Moody looked around as though he expected an assault.

"This location is secured by the Fidelius Charm. The Secret Keeper will reveal it to you soon, I'm sure." Lupin told Harry.

Moody nodded, handing a slip of paper with emerald green ink in a familiar hand- Dumbledore's writing. Harry wondered why he hadn't been shown earlier, but then supposed that birds were trained not to release their mail until a very specific time, so he let it go. He walked inside, the address running amuck in his head.

"Take care, Harry." Tonks called after him.

o0o0o0o

* * *

Newly settled in Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter considered his two friends. They had approached him earlier, of course, but Harry had ignored them. Mostly. Every once in a while he would shoot a suspicious glare at them.

"Harry," Ron began again, annoyance creeping into his concerned expression, "we wanted to tell you."

Hermione nodded, her hair falling into her eyes. "But we _couldn't,_ not with the way things are. Dumbledore told us we couldn't write to you...Harry, we were all doing what was best to keep you safe."

That was really too much.

"_'In summer, when the days are long, Perhaps you'll understand the song: In autumn, when the leaves are brown, Take pen and ink, and write it down.'_" Harry quoted. He thought it was a rather intelligent response, all things considered.

He could have screamed instead, but he hadn't.

"Whose poem is that?" Hermione asked carefully, shrewdly.

Harry frowned at the pair of them and continued. "_'He thought he saw an Elephant That practised on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. 'At length I realize,' he said, 'The bitterness of Life!'_" But he scratched the name of the poem on a napkin, (Humpty Dumpty's Recitation) and (The Mad Gardener's Song) by Lewis Carroll.

"Wait, what?" Ron's expression was a study of confusion.

Harry sighed. Some things had to be repeated. "You're my friends, not his. You could have told me news...what you were doing...the state of the owls in this house..."

Ron looked at Hermione, distracted. "First he doesn't say anything for hours-"

"Twenty minutes." Hermione corrected.

"And then he goes quoting poetry?" Ron's face was beet red. He probably didn't recognize the poem. "Listen, we tried to send word. We tried. But they were checking everything, and everyone said you were fine, and that you _had_ to stay there for a while." The words tumbled out in a rush. It was amazing they didn't get caught on his teeth.

"So what is the news, then? Will you tell me now?" Harry snapped. The words were awkward, hot and laced with anger he only half felt. "Weeks! Of listening in on Muggle news, scanning headlines and hearing nothing. There's nothing! I tell everyone about the graveyard and Voldemort returning, and it's not. there. Why?"

"Harry, mate...no one believes that he's back. _We_ do!" Ron held out his hands defensively. "Of course we believe you. But no one else...there was no proof, you see..."

Hermione's breath hitched. "You said you _scanned_ the papers, Harry? You didn't read them?"

Harry rubbed the place Wormtail had cut him. His arm was traitorously numb. "Couldn't get through it... the words just jumbled...I looked for You-Know-Who... Voldemort or Death Eater, mostly... The words..." Harry shook his head. "But I gave proof! I saw him. I saw him after that dark ritual... isn't that something? Dumbledore even backed me!" The anger was back, tearing its way through the confusion.

Ron stared at him. "Uh. But still, there's nothing _else._ They stripped Dumbledore of his titles, too you know. He's no better than you are."

Hermione hit Ron in the arm, throwing a warning glance at him.

Harry lifted his eyebrows. "_'I saw an aged, aged man, a-sitting on a gate.__ I thanked him for telling me the way he got his wealth, but chiefly for his wish that he might drink my noble health._" Harry muttered, adding _I'll Tell Everything I can,_ to the list. Just like Hermione and Ron ought to have.

"There's something else, Harry..." Ron continued. "What? It's not like we can keep him from noticing on the train! Everyone will be talking...Anyway. Harry, they've been writing stuff about you. Mostly Skeeter...and not good stuff. They think you lost it that night." Ron swallowed hard, but continued. "Or that you're just...lying."

Harry looked Ron in the eye. "Why would I lie about that? And what would I have lost? Besides some blood...and the other champion." Harry sighed and sat down. His head hurt.

Then there was a loud noise as air was displaced and two brilliantly red-haired boys Apparated into the room.

Harry started.

Hermione made a startled noise, and then a frustrated one.

"Hello Harry," said George. "We thought we heard you...not talking."

"And then all the sudden," Fred continued.

"your dulcet tones fill the house." George finished.

"You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out. There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you." Fred grinned down at him.

Harry nodded appreciatively, his headache forgotten. "Still listening at keyholes then?"

Fred cocked his head, the easy smile still in place. "No need for keyholes. Feeling a bit dense today, are we?"

Harry decided that not-responding was best. He crossed his arms and gave Fred and George a Look.

"Hey, is that your best defense in the hearing? Glare at us? Shouldn't you practice looking defenseless and young instead?" One twin asked.

"Nah, he doesn't need a defense. He needs a jailbreak. Not even Dumbledore can help him out of this one," the other laughed.

"Stop it! This is serious! Don't you know what he's been through?" Hermione shook her bushy head, but the twins were out of reach.

George tsked at her. "Quietly, now! We don't want the cranky old house elf or the former owner to start a racket! And believe me, I know what I'm doing. Harry wants to be treated normally, right? He needs a laugh."

Fred helpfully nudged Harry, making an exaggeratedly happy face. "Nothing beats feeling cooped up like a good old joke." He handed Harry a wand. Harry took it, and it turned into a rubber chicken. "Just ask Sirius!"

Harry levitated the chicken. "Hmm. Looks nice." The craftsmanship was good.

Fred and George beamed at him for a moment before they exchanged glances. Twins were always doing that.

"Have you ever had a hearing?" Harry asked them. "When is it, anyway? Before school starts, right?"

"Well, here's what we know..." George slung an arm around Harry's shoulders and pulled him up from the ground. Harry removed the arm and settled in to listen. "There's an order meeting later, probably to discuss your hearing... We're still working on getting in."

"But it never works," Ron put in.

"Not yet! But we won't give up, even if Kretcher poisons us all. Or the old lady Black hollers us deaf. Or Sirius drives Mum mad by going stir-crazy..." Fred shrugged.

"Or if all of the doxies in the house try and bury us in our sleep." George added, not to be outdone. "How were the Dementors, by the way?"

"Tiring. They nearly got my cousin and I. Did you know Mrs. Figg can see them? And Mundungus Fletcher was watching me?"

"You don't say, Harry? You don't say." The conversation picked up from there, with Ron and Hermione right behind him as the twins took up the yarn.

Harry let himself be lead to the sofas, where he finally collapsed into it to listen to what they had to tell him. The hearing would come soon enough. For now, all he wanted to do was sit.

So he did, though the feeling of unease did not leave him.

_Something's going to happen._

* * *

oOoOoO


	2. The Hearing

A/N: _Talkative author seeks cheerful and kind beta._  
**Beta should be: **Be good at spotting inconsistencies, typos, or spelling mystackes. Have a fair handle on grammar. Be willing to be a 'sounding board' (fan about Harry Potter miscellaneous ideas), aka "Which do you like better?" and "Where did I put that chapter?" Also, it would be great (but not necessary) if you're familiar with 80s and early 90s pop culture in the UK, because I am not.

* * *

oOoOoO

**Chapter Two:** The Hearing

Trial day, Harry found, was not nearly as exciting as Fred and George had made it out to be. The trip to the Ministry office was rather round about...maybe Mr. Weasley had lost his broom, or his owls who looked like Aurors, so Harry and he rode Muggle transportation.

"Ooh, the visitor's entrance!" Mr. Weasley smiled. "Let's see, yes, it was...right here."

He entered the telephone booth, but instead of fishing around for change, he dialed a few numbers. 62442.

Harry rearranged them in his head, trying to see if there was a code...what would the 2 be...he mused. graar, maybe? "Oh." he said, remembering the alphabet assigned to the numbers. "Magic."

The phone booth, it seemed, harbored a secret wish to be a lift, and so Harry and Mr. Weasley found themselves descending. Harry looked curiously down the corridor filled with flickering lights, carved marble statues, and a highly polished dark floor. He gave the floor a good tap with his foot.

"Don't talk more than necessary." Mr. Weasley muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "Remember what everyone told you."

Harry decided that musing more on the stories of prisoners trapped forever in an eternal prism (another of the twins' stories) wasn't a bad idea, so he moved along without replying.

Harry gaped at the sheer number of people. Witches and wizards strolled through the floos in flashes of light and smoke. People walked in every direction, and in the distance, he saw elevators full of people making their morning commutes. The sheer amount of people was staggering. _What does the Ministry do with all of them? Or are they all the Ministry?_

"Wand please." an attendant said, cutting through Harry's observations.

Harry handed it to him without comment. The twins had been right about one thing. They _did_ get ridiculous badges in return for wands. His read, "Disciplinary Hearing," which he was supposed to pin on his robes.

"Arthur!"

"Perkins! What's the rush?"

"Thank goodness I've found you!"

Harry stared, mesmerized by the bouncing, fluffy white hair of the wizard.

"We've got an urgent message! Harry's hearing has been moved up, and the courtroom has changed. It started ten minutes ago, Arthur. I sent you an owl-"

"But they couldn't have! I didn't-"

"Hurry, Arthur. Take the lift as far down as it will go, but then you'll need to take the stairs!" The older wizard gestured to the lifts.

"Come on, Harry." Mr. Weasley called, breaking into a run. "We've got to make that lift...!" he waved at someone he seemed to know, reiterating, "Hold the lift!" in a loud voice.

Harry sped up to catch Mr. Weasley. "We're getting on _that?_" Harry asked, leery of it.

Instead of answering, Mr. Weasley stepped on and pulled Harry after him. "Thank you," Mr. Weasley muttered, wheezing a bit.

On the next floor, more wizards went out, but a great many stayed in. Harry wondered exactly how many branches of the Ministry there were. Harry wondered as they sped down, and he thought of counting them all. It would be much better than counting sheep. He'd be asleep in no time, and the (ridiculous, Mr. Weasley had said) hearing would be over.

As several Wizards and Witches exited, Harry just managed to ask, "Why was the meeting changed? Didn't we arrive early?"

Mr. Weasley gave him a pitying look that made Harry's stomach knot itself further. He shook his head and finally said, "There must have been a mistake with the scheduling..." he hesitated, then looked around to make certain no one was listening.

"Listen Harry, I can't go in there with you. But Dumbledore will be there, and his witness. You didn't do anything illegal. Remember that. You cast the spell in self-defense, and surely the Wizengamot will come to see that." That last bit he said in a great rush, so fast that Harry was having difficult discerning the words' individual meaning.

Harry pushed the doors open, glancing back at Mr. Weasley.

The room was like being on the bottom of an Owl's cage, Harry thought. The walls of the cage loomed up above him, and there were beady-eyes peering at him, and there was a lock on the door behind him. At the center of the floor, there was a hard-backed wooden chair with chains. _He_ never actually chained his Owl, though, so he thought it was rather unfair for them to attempt to do it to him. So he stopped walking before he got there, sending his gaze across the beady-eyes instead.

They were old witches and wizards, he noticed that straight away. There were drab, old-fashioned robes with strange cuts like those out of a museum exhibit, and then there was a familiar bowler hat. Next to the hat there was a small, squat woman with an unpleasant look about her. She was wearing a pink cardigan that really didn't suit her complexion.

Harry stared. Eventually, the wizard started talking, giving a long account which Harry didn't bother to listen to. He did notice Dumbledore (apparently he was late as well) walk in. A soft little cough provided by the lady-in-pink also distracted him from examining the courtroom he remembered from the pensive memory of Barty Crouch.

"And this is?"

"Arabella Figg." Mrs. Figg replied, giving an awkward courtesy. She too had been late.

_What's she doing here? She isn't an Owl._

It seemed Dumbledore was confused on this matter as well, for Mrs. Figg had been called to the stand, and was there still. Harry studied her and her plush chair, and finally tuned in when she glanced at him. "One was rather large, and the other rather small." Mrs. Figg said, her face a picture in honesty.

"The Dementors!" Fudge said, inexplicably. Nothing to do with owls at all.

"They were horrible...big and wearing cloaks..." She said uncertainly.

Harry nodded. However true this may have been though, Fudge interrupted, "This Squib has never seen a Dementor! This whole thing is a cover-up for a liar trying to show off in front of Muggles."

Mrs. Figg took a slow breath. "There was all this mist...it was like all the happiness in the world were drained away. Like they were sucking the life out of everything."

The courtroom erupted into chatter, each of the members trying to voice their opinions.

"This is staged! They fed the information to her."

"I doubt that Squibs can see anything as magical as a Dementor..."

"She's got that description perfectly," One voice said, clearly troubled.

Harry stopped listening again, focusing instead on Fudge. Fudge was white with anger, his face practically a mask of cold accusation.

"Clearly he's trying to top his story from the tournament!" Fudge seethed. "This is an outright attack on my—the Ministry's authority. Saying that Voldemort has returned was bad enough, Dumbledore, but getting this Squib to comply in your scheme? Making it out like the Ministry itself would order Dementors into a Muggle village? Ridiculous!"

Thinking to take advantage of all the noise, Harry turned to Mrs. Figg. "Why were you in the alley?" he asked, and for some reason, that was everyone else's cue to stop talking.

Mrs. Figg stared at him. "What?"

"Why were you in the alley?" he repeated.

"Oh!" She smiled thinly. "I didn't think it was safe for you to wander around by yourself, what with the...political climate." She tucked her chin in like a professional and continued, "So I had Mr. Tibbens follow you."

"Oh." Harry said. "Thank you." Instead of a Mundungus following him around, he'd had a cat. And everyone knew that cats were nicer than people.

Apparently it wasn't enough of an explanation, though, for Dumbledore felt the need to elaborate. "Mr. Tibbens is a cat, something of a familiar."

"Enough." the lady in pink said. "We have no need to hear about the cat."

"The court has no further questions for the witness!" Fudge declared. He looked about wildly, trying to find a way to get the trial back on his ground. Another cough from behind him gave them all pause.

Harry considered the cough… It was a sort of _Hem, hem_ that stuck in her throat like a croak. "Nothing else to say for yourself, Mr. Potter?" Pink simpered. It was not a nice sound. "You've barely said a word."

That they all had dismissed Mr. Tibbens (and Mrs. Figg herself) so outright struck him as odd. Who was there to say that Squibs couldn't see Dementors? Wouldn't she know better than they would? And wouldn't _Harry_ know Voldemort was back better than any of them?

Lewis Carroll had the right of things. Some queens (or bowler hats) were off their rocker.

"You've barely said a word." Pink smiled cruelly at him.

Harry thought this was a rather backwards way of asking him to participate. He raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing.

"Harry is merely waiting for your charges to finish." Dumbledore explained softly. He was not looking at Harry, so how he knew this, Harry couldn't say. "I, however, am rather surprised that you would include past allegations in this hearing. They have no bearing on the current misdemeanor."

"He will be expelled!" Fudge roared.

Behind him, a red-haired scribe nodded. The red-haired-scribe looked rather like Percy Weasley, but Harry honestly doubted that Percy would be here, so he dismissed the thought.

Dumbledore straightened, inclining his head and waiting for the entire hall to look at him before he responded. His silence was elegant, maybe. Or maybe it was just useful.

"The Ministry proposes to expel Harry Potter from Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked grandly.

_The whole room already knows that, but when he says it, it sounds...yes. That's it. It sounds big._ He rather suspected Dumbledore would go on at great length on the whole moral responsibility, the impending war, and the unfairness of it all. Dudley Dursley may have been a Muggle, but he was also Harry's family. Harry's family who _already knew_ about Magic. Why could he be punished for showing Dudley a spell that no one else would ever see? It was all rather ridiculous, Harry thought.

_Except,_ he remembered, _there was Mrs. Figg also...but she didn't seem surprised at all. Maybe her cats told her._

"Potter is obviously deranged. He needs to be taken out of that school—we can't have him sending, sending spells like that on the students!" Fudge shouted, cutting through Harry's musings.

Harry frowned. Was it even possible to set a Patronus on someone?

"The Ministry—" Dumbledore began again, but Harry had heard enough. He wanted this over, and he wanted to be done.

"I cast the Patronus on the _Dementors._" Harry interrupted. "Because they were attacking me and my cousin. Weren't you listening?"

Dumbledore's shoulders tensed. Maybe that last bit wasn't a good question.

Harry continued, only slightly perturbed. "If you can keep the Dementors out of Hogwarts, I won't have to cast the Patronus again." Harry reasoned, albeit quietly.

"What?" Someone asked. He recalled their name having something to do with Bones.

"You can trust me." Harry said in a louder voice. "Please." He tried to cover the anger with a polite expression, but the words kept coming, and it was hard to control it. "I can do this!" he finished. Or at least, he could once he remembered what it was he was to be doing.

"Well said, Harry." Dumbledore congratulated. Harry felt a surge of pride trampling the anger, and he sat down on the chair Mrs. Figg had vacated.

"I believe the law has a stipulation," Dumbledore continued, "that both underage magic and magic in front of Muggles-"

"-especially Muggles who happen to be family, and already know about Magic." Harry added quickly.

"- when the Witch or Wizard in question is in danger." Dumbledore concluded.

Fudge fidgeted. "We have no conclusive evidence that there was any threat to speak of."

Harry stiffened, offended on Mrs. Figg's and Mr. Tibbens behalf. "That's what our witness was for!"

"I believe, Minister and officials, that all we have left to do is wait for your vote." Bones (whatever her title was), nodded once and spoke in a clear, crisp voice. "Those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?"

Harry glanced over the assembled witches and witches. They had begun raising their hands- a great many of them. More than half, easily. He gave a tiny smile.

Bones then said, "And those in favor of conviction?"

Fudge, the lady in pink, and a few other persons raised their hands. Fudge himself appeared to be fighting a battle with a monster in his gut, for when he spoke, his voice was distorted. "Very well, very well...cleared of all charges."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore briskly. He relaxed his posture a bit and turned around, sparing neither a glance nor a word for Mrs. Figg or Harry.

He watched as the great witches and wizards stood, all beginning to talk so that the whole air buzzed with the noise, and found that nearly no one was looking at him anymore. No one, that is, except for the lady in pink. Slowly, even she exited.

Harry was left alone in the hall.

He looked away quickly, and quietly made for the exit. He'd had enough of being an owl for today. It was time to go home.

* * *

o0o0o0o

Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny were to leave Grimmauld Place under guard. Harry rather felt that their party was a little large for such measures, but he wasn't about to argue, having still not decided whether Moody was another imposter, an Auror or an owl. One never could tell, after all.

As they moved their trunks near the front entrance where the Ghost in the Portrait still screamed, Hermione and Ron whispered about something.. Apparently it was quite interesting, as they forgot to keep their voices quiet enough.

"With You-Know-Who building an army and after a weapon, the only reasonable defense is to build up the order," Ron was telling Hermione.

Fred and George agreed. "Except that it's hard to recruit with all the rotten news about Dumbledore and Harry. And known convicts sitting in on every meeting."

"And werewolves," Fred put in. "It's not exactly easy to recruit for them, is it? Which is why," he said, raising his voice,

"We should be made proper members." George finished.

Hermione shushed them both. "We're not meant to advertise what we know!" She said in a not-so-quiet whisper.

Mrs. Weasley, the main offender for listening in on her children's conversations, was too busy arguing with Sirius to notice.

"I'm glad to be out of this house." Ron muttered loudly in the direction of the adults. "It's a right headache it is." He glared at the noisy portrait. "It's hard to believe Sirius is from this family." Ron added. "The things we've had to clean out...the stuff into the library. I thought that old stuff in the drawing room would kill us all."

"The Most Noble House of Black," Fred said with a sly grin, "was darker than most and filled with pitfalls and traps. Sirius let us in on a few good secrets though. Imagine we'll have some good stuff for our-"

"-the Blacks had a few daughters, didn't they? I remember seeing the names on that tapestry..." Hermione interrupted absently. She had the look of someone trying to commit everything to memory before it all slipped away.

"The Blacks are all named after stars." Harry said, surprising everyone (himself included.)

Fred laughed. "Too bad no one could have been named Hole. When they did role call, it'd be-"

"-or better, Uranus-" the twins collapsed into each other.

Harry rolled his eyes. This was another one of the twins' performances. They often said silly things to distract everyone from something he'd said.

"You're right, you know, about the stars." Hermione pointedly ignored the twins. "I looked it up on my star chart and compared it with the Family Tree... It's quite fascinating, all the history in this house...Bellatrix is also known as the Amazon star, you know. Andromeda is a whole galaxy... Regulus is the heart of the constellation Leo. Sirius is, of course, the Dog Star...they seem particularly apt names."

"How is Regulus apt? I thought Sirius was the only Lion in his family." Harry said.

"Well, maybe not all of them..." Hermione allowed, shrugging her hair out of her face. "Maybe it just means he was brave to try and leave?"

"Leave your trunks, leave your trunks! Someone will take them for you and you'll find them on the platform. You'll be walking to the station and be there before you know it," Molly bustled about, waving a dust cloth, of all things.

"You're not supposed to leave your luggage unattended." Harry remarked. "Or any old suspicious person could put explosives in it and make you an accidental terrorist." His warning went unheeded. "Saw that on one of Dudley's spy films."

Twenty-five minutes later, they approached the train. The twins and Ginny arrived with the cart full of luggage (not abandoned after all). Ginny made her way toward them while Hermione and Ron stood awkwardly. Hermione chewed her lip, and Ron did something to his robes.

"Did you forget something?" Harry peered at them curiously. "Let's find a carriage."

"Harry—I thought you'd noticed," Hermione said. "But you see, we've been made prefects."

Harry nodded slowly. Yes, Ron did have pin with a large P on it. He was fussing with it...hadn't the twins mentioned it as well?

"So, we have to go to the prefect's car, mate."

"Oh," Harry felt the word slip out of his mouth like a breath.

Hermione looked at the ground, and her face flushed a bright red. When she finally tore her gaze off the pavement to look at him, she was so flustered he thought she might cry. "You should wait for Neville. Or maybe go with the twins...?"

Harry glanced around. "They've gone."

"Oh." Hermione said, unconsciously repeating Harry, and all the more embarrassed. "Well. Ah, try the, um, try the-" she looked at Ginny for help.

"There's plenty of space," Harry muttered. "Don't worry about me so much."

"It's not the space we're worried about," Ron muttered. "Ouch, hey!"

"With all the things happening this summer," Ginny kept her gaze on Harry, but she did look around the platform once. "I thought it might be good to stick with you. We can sit together." Ginny said briskly.

Hermione and Ron walked away with many glances back at him, and Harry finally got on the train with Ginny. Harry walked through the train, glancing in compartments to look for a seat beside her. It was the first time he'd been without the other two since he was eleven years old...and the first time he was alone with Ginny. Probably. Unless you counted that time when they'd stolen down to the kitchen together after returning from the World Cup.

"The Hogwarts Express." Harry said to Hedwig.

Ginny gave him a strange look. "Let's find a place to sit."

At first Harry was looking for a familiar face like Neville or maybe even Seamus. Finally, he found Neville in a compartment with a girl who was calmly reading a magazine.

Harry paused for perhaps longer than he meant to, because Ginny started looking annoyed. Or maybe concerned. "Oh, that's just Neville and Loony—I mean, Luna Lovegood, Harry. She's all right, really. A bit odd, but funny."

"Oh, hey Harry!" Neville flagged him in. "Did you have a good summer?"

"Not really. How about you, Neville?" Harry sat down opposite of Luna, and Ginny took the other seat.

"The same as always." Neville leaned forward conspiratorially. "Are people," he made a vague gesture with his hands, "you know, being... to you?"

Beside him, Ginny levitated her trunk onto the luggage rack, her face turning faintly pink. Ginny had turned her sharp gaze to Neville, though Harry wasn't quite sure why, really. Harry casually levitated his trunk into the space next to Ginny's. Hedwig's hooted reproachfully when he attempted to open her cage, so he stopped and left her on the floor.

"They are certainly talking." The girl said, her eyes still fixed on the magazine. "But don't worry, Harry. We all believe you."

"Thanks." Harry trailed off, but then his curiosity got the better of him. "What are you looking at?"

"Oh, the Quibbler. It's very interesting." She glanced up at him for a moment, and her blue eyes seemed friendlier than he first expected.

"Yes... well. Fred and George are selling their Skiving Snack Boxes, did you see? Best stay away from them for now or they might give us all test samples." Ginny was saying.

Harry stood up suddenly. The thought of _more people_ was enough to rattle him, and so he muttered a hasty, "I'm going to find the trolley," before making a quick exit.

Harry avoided the suspicious eyes of his classmates by the simple expedient of pretending they weren't there. So he was able to brush past the wandering ones without meeting their gazes, and found himself some awkward minutes later near the engine room. He paused to look at the door- presumably the carriage before that was where Hermione and Ron (and presumably the other P-badge-bearing students) were listening to the Head Boy and Girl. He stared at the door thoughtfully, then thought better of it.

He jabbed his wand at the key-hole, and it opened systematically. There was a friendly voice that said, 'All spells working normally' as he stepped over the thresh hold.

Here would be a nice spot for some peace and quiet.

The spot just behind the engine was comfortably warm, and out of the way. He watched the magical instruments bob up and down, thinking it unlikely for anyone to find him here. Harry settled himself into the space, watching the meters on the dashboard go up and down, up and down...

Up and down...up and down...

.

_Harry was dreaming. He saw a stone corridor that could be anywhere in Hogwarts, and it made him dizzy with wondering. Where could he be? _

_He thought he caught a glimpse of a dark nigh sky then, a place so deeply shadowed it could only be that place. The forest. It was cold and it was dark, and he wanted more than anything to leave that place. _

_Out. He needed _out.

_Harry moved, fast and fleeting. Finally, he caught a glimpse of the corridor again, and on it, a dark window that reflected his image back at him. Dark, dark eyes stared back at him, filled his mind as he slept._

oOoOoOo

* * *

tbc…

(A/N: yes, he is sleeping in an obscure place. Rather like Katniss. I have never seen Post-Traumatic stress dealt with in Young Adult fantasy quite like the Hunger Games. LOVE.)

Anyway. They arrive at Hogwarts next chapter, and so we finally get to meet Tom.


	3. Forbidden Compartments and Forests

A/N: er, canon-divergence. I hate Umbridge. Though I can't get rid of her, I can replace her from the dA class. :D New dA teacher is someone familiar~

* * *

oOoOoOo

**Chapter Three: **Forbidden Compartments and Forests

When Harry awoke, it was to a gentle shake.

Harry stared at the hand held out before him, uncertain of whether he should take it. "Are you... train staff?"

"Oh Harry, Harry, Harry. I believe your plan went a little wrong! You're not in fact, fashionably making an entrance- something you did second year, I'm told. You never got off the train! Why, I'd say we're at least an hour away from Hogwarts by now. And let me tell you, it is difficult to Apparate on a moving object! Snape had the better idea, stopping the train..."

"Snape is here?" Harry peered warily around the man's shoulder.

"Oh yes, of course. I should tell him you've been found..." the blond man smiled broader still. "I knew I'd be the one to find you. You and I, we just have a connection, don't you think?"

Harry did not respond, too busy thinking where Snape might be, and whether or not he was likely to get detention.

"I am Professor Lockhart. Gilderoy Lockhart, famous for _Magical Me_, along with many other thrilling tales." Lockhart continued, happily filling the space.

_Well, if it isn't our local celebrity._ Harry could practically hear Snape say it, his tone as caustic as ever. He chewed his lip, imagining his most-hated-professor's reaction to finding him there on the train.

"I fell asleep." Harry muttered, as though that might be excuse enough.

Lockhart stopped him from moving too far by raising his hand, whereupon he took a step closer and straightened Harry's shirt. He also ran a hand through Harry's hair- or began to, before Harry sidestepped him. Harry moved slightly to the right, easing away from the side of the compartment.

"We should go back."

"Potter!" Harry could hear the sneer in Snape's voice, even if he couldn't see it. "Are you truly so brainless so as not to realize what time it is? Surely your stomach at least should lend a hint to the severity of your tardiness."

"He says he fell asleep," Lockhart said, a certain conspiratorial grandeur that did not endear him to the other professor.

Snape's eyes had not left Harry. "Did he indeed."

Harry turned to see what Lockhart would do at that, and Lockhart saved him the trouble of craning his neck by walking forward a pace or three to stand between Harry and the potions master. It was not a place many would have positioned themselves in, so he immediately had Harry's full attention.

"You see, I found him by the engine room. There must have been some sort of abnormality, seeing that it doesn't ordinarily allow students in. Perhaps Mister Potter was attending to a faulty charm?"

Harry deflated a bit. _Ah,_ he thought. _He's not going to do anything...does he _only_ talk?_

"Potter." Snape said slowly, and Harry's eyes darted back to him. "What were you doing in the engine room?"

"Sleeping. I was sleeping." He stuck his chin out, feeling like he must. He usually did, when speaking with Snape after all. At the moment the animosity was a fleeting thing, fixated on something so fluid that it had more in common with nightmares than the man who stood before him. This was the man who hated everything about him (and never let an opportunity to let others know it slip by). And for the moment, Snape seemed to fill in for every wizard who called him a liar. This was the bully who taunted him since he was a child- but then, this was also the man who stepped in to save him around every other corner.

Harry saw himself, reflected in those dark eyes: his anger came more as peevish frustration. Confused embarrassment. A stupid boy afraid to be called a liar who hid in the engine room.

But that wasn't the truth of things… he was dreaming. He was staying secret, staying hidden... someone told him to stay out of sight. Those birds had. He'd been ignored all summer, after all. The thoughts came wild and fast, mixed with memories of the strange dream he'd seen.

"Were you now?" Snape's lips curled. His sallow features were at high contrast in the car's flickering light. "If it suits your busy schedule, Potter, we should return to the castle." Snape said in a tone that could curdle milk.

Harry nodded. And without so much as asking permission, Snape grabbed onto his arm and Apparated them to the Hogsmeade gate. Harry yelped in surprise, swaying on his feet as he pulled away, all the while glaring daggers at his teacher. He landed in a half-crouch, touching fingers to the dirt and shielding the bulk of his body from further attack before he remembered: _Snape did not come to the Graveyard._

Snape eyed him with distaste. "Do you fancy yourself to be some sort of feral beast, Mr. Potter?" he strode forward to loom over Harry better.

Harry held his ground, not replying. His heart beat erratically in his throat.

"The castle awaits. Your _punishment_ shall undoubtedly be seen to by your Head of House—"

Then there was that cough. "Hem! Hem!"

Harry whirled about, his eyes searching for the noise. His gaze settled on the woman in pink. He noted that she was actually rather short and squat, coming short of an intimidating stature by a fair margin. This was rather surprising, especially remembering her from the hearing.

"I see that you found our errant student," the high pitched, oddly girlish voice didn't seem to match Harry's image of a bullfrog in pink twill. She even had this too-pink shade of lipstick on, and the thickness of it made him wonder what she could possibly be hiding. "His case will be put up for review, I assume? As Superintendent, I think we should push for expulsion," her bulbous eyes gleamed, "as he is a repeat offender."

Harry stared at the woman, edging slowly towards the gates that led up the path and into the castle. He noticed as Snape drew himself up, dark eyes flashing and greasy hair lending nicely to his bat-like appearance. "While I agree that Mr. Potter's presence is ever an irritant," Snape droned, "I'm afraid that is not up to you, Superintendent." Each clipped, crisp syllable sounded much better when wielded _not_ against Harry, and so he took the time to appreciate the sound of them.

Then Snape turned to Harry and ruined the image. "March, Potter. Detention begins tomorrow. You've already taken up too much of our time!" Snape ordered, relieving Harry of any opportunity to talk to the woman in pink. They passed the rest of the trek in silence, though the Superintended (or whatever she was) looked as though she had other things to say.

Back in the castle, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid and several more of the teachers gathered by the doors. Harry was made uncomfortably aware of their eyes on him, and the noxious smell that seemed to be the pink woman's perfume.

"He was on the train, cowering behind the engines. Asleep, so he says." Snape drawled, announcing to the assembled teachers. "Lockhart should manage Apparating back in a few more minutes, I'm certain." He added as an afterthought.

Of all the eyes fixed on Harry, it was the lack of the piercing blue-eyes that struck him. Dumbledore still would not look at him. Harry wondered if he was invisible again...it was a not entirely unwelcome feeling, it being oddly reminiscent of primary school. No one noticed him then either.

"I'll just be going to bed then..." Harry muttered, trying to escape as soon as possible.

"Mr. Potter, I do not know what possessed you to cause such trouble on your first day back, especially knowing the danger you could be in!" McGonagall seemed reluctant to let him walk away. She stepped neatly in front of him.

Dumbledore began, "I believe this matter of discipline is more than adequately handled by the Head of House. Thank you all for helping us search for Mr. Potter. The rest of us should continue with the ordinary schedule." Dumbledore told a nearby statue. Or at least that was what Harry assumed he was looking at. "Good evening, all."

Harry took that as his cue to leave, and went.

* * *

oOoOoOo

Back in the dormitory, Harry pondered the adult's actions. He was just deciding not to pay them any more mind than the train-full-of-students when Ron and Hermione seemingly suddenly appeared before him.

"Harry, why didn't you stay with Neville? Everyone was so worried!" Hermione fell into him, hugging him tightly. Harry belatedly noticed she had been crying.

Ron stood back awkwardly before heaving a huge sigh.

"I fell asleep," Harry said, pulling away from his friend.

"You missed a hell of a lot." Ron said finally. "There was a speech and everything from that new Super-what's-it, and everyone was talking about where you'd gone."

Harry paused to digest this. When it didn't click, he turned to Hermione for explanation.

Blinking several times as she took a deep breath, Hermione began slowly. "Professor Lockhart is the defense teacher, and Superintendent Umbridge has been sent to Hogwarts by the Ministry. She seems to be in charge of rules and discipline, as well as reviewing the current professors' classes."

"How did you even get all of that from a _speech?_" Ron said incredulously. "I barely understood any of what she was saying. So boring." He looked self-consciously at Harry then, and the attempt to seem normal fell flat. He was frowning just-slightly.

Harry, not wanting to look at a disappointed face (that had no right to be, especially), allowed his gaze to wander to the side of the common room. There were a few new little students, of course, and in a chair by the fire, Ginny was already curled up, breathing softly. Her expression was not as relaxed as it should have been, though.

_Maybe she's having dreams too..._ Harry thought, distracted. "I think the weapon is something here." Harry found himself saying in a low voice.

Hermione and Ron both started at that. "For the order, you mean?" Ron asked cautiously.

"No. He's looking for a weapon... It's here." Harry insisted. "And we need to be careful. This year more than ever." He looked around the common room for the twins, who might agree. But they were absorbed in a conversation with Lee Jordan.

"Be careful, Harry." Hermione advised. "The Superintendent will be here a lot for the Ministry, and if she catches you looking for trouble-"

"Yeah." Harry interrupted. "I know."

Then he made his way toward the fifth year dormitories, eager to be away from the rest of the prying eyes.

"Sweet dreams." Someone called to him, and Harry tensed.

"Right. Dreams... Good night." And he left.

* * *

oOoOoOo

Harry Potter couldn't sleep. He was still thinking of the possibility of the weapon being on Hogwarts property long after the others had fallen asleep.

"Is anyone awake? Because I'm going out." He told his sleeping roommates.

He crept out of bed, and opened the window in the dormitory tower. He turned around to see if anyone would join him, but the other boys didn't seem to wake even with the slight breeze.

He'd pulled his broom and his invisibility cloak out with him, and so he was thinking about the Aurors Who Were Owls as he snuck out an open window. He didn't stop to guess how Filch would have missed such an obvious trick, but he privately thanked whatever was responsible for it. Peeves, maybe.

And so Harry flew under the wide sky. The tingle of cold on his skin was pleasant after the long journey on the train, and the wind buffeted his ears without the distraction voices offered. He grinned at the sky and the stars, finally able to forget the unsettling differences Hogwarts was undergoing.

Finally, he alighted on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He was only following a whim, but something told him this was where he was meant to be. Perhaps it was the moon who told him. He glanced up and wandered, letting his bare feet touch the soft grass.

"Hello." He said to the Forest Which Ought Not Be Forbidden.

"Who's there?" a strangely familiar (but not recognized) voice replied.

Harry considered the voice as he took to the air again. His broom would be quieter than his feet, and he didn't see the voice. Not at all.

There was a quiet shuffle from where the voice had come, and the noise resolved itself into a figure. It wasn't tall and haunting, but neither was it an animal; no unicorn or hippogriff, or any other familiar magical creatures.

A student? They were wearing the right robes for it.

"You." Harry called out, and to his own ears it sounded cool and important. He got the reaction he wanted—the Maybe-A-Student turned toward him.

"What do you want?" The student demanded, and his dark eyes flashed in the night. "Are you nobody then?"

Harry caught the reference, thinking of Homer's _The Iliad and the Odyssy_. "I've nothing against Giants." Harry replied. "Hagrid is one of my friends."

"Not here though, is he?" The student snapped, and Harry unintentionally met the boy's gaze. It shouldn't have happened, seeing that Harry was invisible, but the startling gaze of Tom Marvolo Riddle could catch anyone, it seemed.

Seconds ticked by. Harry thought about what was going on. Either this was an interactive dream, and the Tom Riddle from Tom Riddle's diary was trying to get Harry off his broom in his dream, or Tom Riddle from Tom Riddle's diary was on—no, just near— Hogwarts property, perhaps plotting to overthrow magical England from the thickets.

Riddle seemed to become restless, and said something probably intended to make Harry reveal his position: "The giant will lose his only home if he doesn't return."

Harry peered into the Forest Which Maybe Ought to be Kept Forbidden, wondering if Riddle had somehow snuck in from there. He also thought about defensive spells, but realized that he'd never cast spells from broom before. Finding his wand and getting the spell right in the air was not something he'd thought about, so Harry hastily landed with a thud and a whistle.

As he caught his balance, something (the wind? Or a spell?) pushed off the cloak's hood. It was a strange sensation that Harry hadn't experienced since he had illegally visited Hogsmead in his third year. So it was that Riddle caught sight of him, all mussed hair and intent eyes .

"Ah." Riddle said enigmatically. "Potter."

"You can't cross the boundary." Harry told him, raking his mind for the proper spell. _Any_ spell that might serve against the Dark Lord.

"What are you on about?" Riddle scoffed.

Harry stared back, amazed. "You're dead." He informed Tom.

Tom Riddle raised one eyebrow. "Obviously, I am not."

Harry considered his options. "Then you're not Tom Riddle."

Tom did not reply to that, merely staring at Harry.

"Voldemort," Harry's breath slipped out. "No, no, you were in the Graveyard. You _can't_ be here." He reached for his wand, flicked a shield charm to the left, and darted where it would have landed.

Only Tom hadn't moved. "Stop making so much noise." Tom demanded. "You don't want them to know we've _both_ broke curfew, do you?"

"What are you talking about? You can't just waltz into Hogwarts."

Tom shifted uncomfortably. "I'm afraid you'll find that I can, Potter. Nevertheless, I'd appreciate you not attracting undo attention."

Something behind Tom caught Harry's attention. Harry rubbed at his eyes and frowned. There was a strange something flickering in the forest, like white mist curling up and around the fauna. Harry began to think that an interactive dream was more and more likely.

Tom tensed at Harry's scrutiny and slowly turned his head back towards the forest. He began to murmur something under his breath, and his expression melted into something predatorily excited. Anticipation was plain on Tom's face, and that subtle Slytherin desire to prove himself made Harry wonder if it were Tom's ally at all. Perhaps it was some Hogwarts specter, there to announce the arrival of the young Dark Lord.

Either way, Harry decided he needed backup. He turned around, and took three slow steps away from Riddle to mount his broom. Riddle didn't turn from the pale figure to see Harry fly back to the castle. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

oOoOoOo

Harry Potter crawled back in through his open window, torn between feeling thoughtful and mistrusting. Perhaps even a touch cautious, though Harry tried to avoid being cautious at all costs.

Once back in his dormitory, he took out his wand and a bit of crumpled parchment paper off the common room table, and spelled it to deliver itself to Hermione's dorm room.

In the meanwhile, he went to wake Ron.

The dormitory beds were peaceful, and arranged just the way they always were. Harry felt a tinge of regret for disrupting the beds job- they were meant to provide restful sleep for their occupants. But, even so. Harry poked Ron in the chest, first with his finger, and then with his wand. "Ron...Ron..."

Ron wrinkled his face and burrowed further into his blanket.

"Ro~n," Harry half sang. "Wake up."

"Wha-what?" Ron sat up in bed, looking around wildly. "What do you want, Harry?" He whined, rubbing at his eyes and making the most disgruntled expression Harry had seen since coming back from potions class. He stood there, appreciating the expression for a long moment. "Harry. whadidyouwakemeupfor?" Ron mumbled.

Harry forced himself to breathe before answering. "Ron," he started, and then let the rest out in a rush, "Tom Riddle is back at Hogwarts. I think he's here to possess someone else, or maybe already has." He paused (not for dramatic affect, but to breathe again, of course), his eyebrows lifted expectantly.

Ron's expression clouded over, and then he rolled away. "Go back to sleep, Harry." he muttered.

Harry, annoyed now that his unexpected announcement had not the desired effect, frowned. "I'm serious. Also, I already woke up Hermione. We should wait in the common room for her before she comes up here."

Ron groaned. "How did you wake her up? Boys aren't allowed-" But Ron was interrupted by one of the other boys throwing a pillow in his direction.

Harry eyed the pillow appreciatively. Perhaps that was the most expedient way to get Ron out of bed...

Quietly now, both boys made their way down to the common room.

"You do know what time it is," Hermione greeted them, her expression grave.

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "I've already been to the forest and back, Hermione. If anyone was going to catch me, they would have already. So don't-"

"The forest? You can't mean—Harry, lights out was supposed to be an hour ago!" Hermione shook her head, her fluffy, wild hair even more unruly than usual.

"It's important." Harry insisted.

"It isn't," Ron disagreed. "He said something about Riddle. You know how they get."

Harry frowned. "How do you mean 'how we get?' Like Chamber of Secrets getting on? Or like Graveyard? Or like Sorcerer's Stone getting on?"

"Harry," Hermione said gently, "Riddle had nothing to do with any of that. That was You-Know-Who."

"...so you know that Tom Riddle, looking no older than 15 or 16 in a thicket by the forest right now. And have no problem with this. Even though it's been at least 50 years since he was that age..." Harry looked puzzled. "First, how did you find out before I did?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged baffled looks.

"You see, I only found out after the Forbidden Forest summoned me, you know. I didn't know he was here before that. Did he send out postcards informing everyone- except me- of his moving and new body, then?" Harry's eyes narrowed at this.

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances again, but neither was nearly as alarmed as Harry expected (or wanted) them to be.

"It's been a hard year for you, Harry." Hermione began in her 'this is for your own good' voice. "So I know you expect something terrible to happen, but remember, this is Hogwarts. The graveyard was...not so long ago, yes, but it's been months." She wavered, not sure where to go from there. "But You Know Who, he can't be at Hogwarts. The wards, the teachers, the...the castle's magic. It wouldn't let him. Not without an army."

Ron nodded. "Also, Riddle has been here since Ginny has, so I really don't see why you're surprised that he's here." He nodded his head in Harry's direction. "Ringing any bells?"

Harry shook his head. "No bells are ringing."

Ron sighed, exasperated. "But in the Forest? Are you sure you didn't, uh, imagine that? Maybe you were dreaming."

"Harry, do you want to go see the nurse?" Hermione half whispered. "You haven't been dealing well with...everything so far this year..."

"Hermione, stop treating me like I'm fragile. Voldemort himself couldn't kill me...and everyone thinks I'm a lying, attention seeking...what did they call me again? Anyway...not fragile." Harry rubbed the tip of his nose. "Don't need the nurse. Continue explaining why you aren't surprised at Riddle being here." He gestured for them to speak.

Ron looked at Hermione instead of Harry as he spoke. "Tom is in Ginny's year. Also, uh, we just want you to know that we don't think you're a lying or attention seeking whatever-they-said. You know that, right?"

Hermione sighed, agitated. "What Ronald means to say, Harry, is that we're worried about you, but we don't distrust you. It's just...strange. Why are you so concerned about Riddle? Can you explain it again?" She picked at the edge of her pajama sleeve.

Harry smiled faintly. Finally. "Tom was near the Forbidden Forest, see? In this thicket, and then there was this white mist, and maybe an ally—his ally or Hogwarts' I dunno. But don't worry," he rushed to add, "I'll show you the thicket in the morning. So there was Riddle, standing in the moonlight, and he just looked at me..." he paused, considering his words. "Er, he either summoned the figure and shoed me out of the forest, or the forest doesn't like him much at all. All of this was maybe twenty minutes ago…" He finished lamely, deciding not to mention the little detail that Tom Riddle had done no magic.

"I told you." Ron declared. "He saw Riddle sometime today, remembered their old feud, and lost his temper. They probably had a row when..." he paused significantly. "Harry, did you get detention by any chance?"

Harry frowned. "That isn't the point." he insisted.

"You did." Ron groaned. "Did you lose points?"

"For your information, there wasn't anyone who saw me. I think the castle arranged for me to see Tom Riddle, who is secretly Voldemort, emerge near the castle. So I can do something about it."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione's gaze softened. "You don't have to do anything by yourself."

Ron sighed. "Let's just go to bed. Voldemort wouldn't be hanging out looking like Tom Riddle. The kid's weird, but not particularly well-connected or even that powerful."

"No!" Harry hissed. "Just come with me. You'll see." His mind raced, trying to think of where Riddle could have gone. "He'll have left the Forest by now of course, so we'll have to use the Cloak."

"No, we can't. Not now. He'll...he'll be impossible to find, and we'd all just get detention. You heard Professor Flitwick, didn't you? That...that Superintendent-"

"The Undersecretary." Ron interrupted.

"-she's going to get lists of all the students with detentions, and she could make it _worse,_ Harry. Especially for you." She shook her head vehemently. "So no, we can't go out now. Tomorrow, ok? Governors and superintendents can cancel classes, or at least, that's what she says. She is in charge of reviewing discipline as well! She might say anything usual isn't enough...we could be stuck with months of detention for what used to last an hour. She also works with the media, so she could do a lot of damage with anything she hears about- about -"

"Calm down, Hermione. Harry just said no one saw him."

Harry felt his cheeks puff in annoyance. "If that's how you both are going to be about our adventures this year. Fine. I'm going to bed..."

Harry turned about smartly, and marched up the stairs.

o0o0o0o

* * *

The mystery begins... (recap next chapter). Thanks for reading!


	4. Tom Places the Blame

**A/N: **I hope you're enjoying the story! Thanks for the clicks, favorites and especially reviews.** Recap at the end** of this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 4:** Tom Places the Blame

Harry Potter suspiciously watched Tom Riddle eat breakfast.

Tom, he decided, didn't eat like other boys. He picked at his food, studied it, and chewed most carefully. He did not eat everything in sight, nor did he eat only one kind of food. He was...

...decidedly _not_ suspicious.

Harry sighed and let his gaze wander around the great hall, where his eyes settled on another figure staring at the Slytherin table. Ginny. Just a few seats down, she too seemed to be watching Riddle more than her food. A point proven by the way her fork searched for peas which kept rolling out of reach.

"Ginny." Harry called over to her. She didn't look away from Tom, so he continued. "What do you think he's eating?"

Ginny nearly choked. "Wha- what?"

"Vegetables?" Harry concluded, perhaps prematurely.

Ginny shrugged. "I can't tell. But I wasn't looking at him," she denied. Lied.

"You were so."

"No, I wasn't." She looked away from both Tom and Harry, still flushed.

"I know 'cause I was looking at him too." Harry admitted. "We need to do something about him. But I haven't decided what, yet."

Ginny's gaze was swept away, and her hands clenched.

Harry followed the movement, realizing that Tom Riddle must have moved.

"Yeah." Harry replied vaguely, more interested in watching Tom than the conversation at hand. "We need to follow him."

Ginny nodded slowly. "Wait a minute. Wait...let him get ahead."

Harry, seeing the wisdom in this, listened. Just as Riddle exited through the over sized doors, they stood up. Harry jogged while Ginny walked quickly behind him.

"Just act natural-" Ginny said, breathing quickly. "He's not expecting us to do anything. Don't let him take you off guard, but..." her eyes darted to the side, "but don't do anything to him first." It was a lot to say for Ginny, and she hurried through it as though she wanted it out of her head.

"Okay." Harry said easily, though he'd already forgotten what she said.

Two sets of eyes searched the hallway for a sign of which way the Slytherin had gone.

Ginny let out a great sigh of frustration. "Ugh! How does he sneak out of the Great Hall? Do you see him?"

Harry shook his head. "Maybe his illusion of being a school child only works in the Great Hall, library and classrooms."

The expression froze on her face. "Harry?" she started, trying to gauge if he were joking.

"Yeah?"

"...is something the matter?" she asked hesitantly.

"Aside from Tom Riddle coming to Hogwarts?" Harry took a moment to consider. "No, not really."

Ginny swallowed hard, and pursed her lips. It was an expression that reminded Harry of Quidditch. It was her game face. "You've changed, Harry. I don't think you're Okay. Whatever happened to you...that night? Can't you tell someone?" Her jaw tightened, her eyes filling with concern.

Harry stepped away. She was looking at him like he was something to protect. It was insulting, it was unexpected, and it made him wonder- was he that needy? That _weak?_

But of course he wasn't. He pulled his wand out, cast a globe of light and circled it out around them, pulsing with his concentration. _You've changed, Harry._ She said. Had said.

"I have." He replied evenly, dully. Then he smiled. "Don't worry."

And then there were the dreams...all those dreams. Some sort of trap? Or a vision? Some kind of warning?

Then he decided to change the subject. "How did you notice Tom? Did Hogwarts summon you to see his rebirth? Rather like a phoenix, and not like the Graveyard. The graveyard isn't on Hogwarts ground. Right? Right." he had reduced to mumbling by the end of that long stretch, and Ginny still was looking at him funny.

He sighed.

"Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?" She asked quietly, her hands bunching the fabric of her robes.

"I'm going to check down this hall. You wanna take the other? Let me know if he does anything Voldemort...ish." Harry waved a hand to deny her concern.

He turned to walk down the hall, ignoring Ginny's eyes on his back. Maybe Riddle was just hiding in plain sight...

Harry glanced at the stones, remembering how as a child, his cousin (who had watched some horror-movie, or maybe listened to a horror story) was afraid of stepping on cracks.

He looked up and met Tom Riddle's dark eyes. Startled, Harry said the first thing that came to him. "It's you. I wasn't sure you existed in the corridors..."

Tom raised an eyebrow. He seemed good at that. "Now why would that be?"

"You're an illusion, of course. The ghost of a memory, maybe..." Harry chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I saw you die in the chamber after I stabbed your diary..." Harry decided not to explain anymore. Instead, he copied the stance Dudley took sometimes, and swung a punch at Tom's shoulder. He felt the fabric as Tom dodged. Maybe not so fake after all.

Harry stepped aside as though he had not attacked Tom

"You seem...more unstable than before," Tom said carefully. "The students talk of little else." His eyes were calculating and clinically distant.

Harry shook his head, scowling. "They always talk about me." He remembered his fourth year, and second too, where he'd spent large portions of the year being whispered about, doubted and feared or reviled. It was getting to be rather tiresome, actually.

Tom did nothing to show he'd heard Harry. He continued. "It seems to be true, though. That's what scares them." In that moment, Tom seemed more like Voldemort—his teeth showed just slightly, and the pretty words were void of tangible emotion. He seemed inhuman. He also seemed to be fishing for information.

Harry stepped back to watch Riddle again. He smiled thinly. "So you _are_ really here." He said at last, and his eyes slipped past Riddle to the portrait nearest him. It was looking at him with muted horror, presumably at the fighting in the hallways.

Riddle followed his gaze. Continuing in that detached voice, "Ah," and then, "perhaps we had better talk at a later point."

"No." Harry said immediately. He'd waited long enough. "Why the hell is everyone just accepting that you're here? You're the young Dark Lord! Shouldn't Dumbledore and McGonagall notice?" The words erupted out of him, startling paintings and causing a nearby younger student to scuttle away hastily.

Tom's eyes narrowed. It was almost a relief to see his expression _could_ change. "I am _not_ 'the Young Dark Lord.' Harry, I'm not the thing you claim came back last year."

Surprisingly, he did not continue. Harry (who keenly remembered the verbose, gloating speech _that_ Tom Riddle- not to mention Voldemort himself- was... Grandiose, vacuous, long winded, rambling...Harry mentally made a list), decided to take the advantage and continue with his accusations.

"The graveyard-" and something clicked in his brain. The fog cleared a little bit, and he felt the anger, desolation and loneliness that had built up over the summer fill up the emptiness the fog had left in its wake.

Tom stood still, his eyes trained on Harry, watching him—drinking in his mental turmoil.

"_Claim?_ Claim, you say, Riddle? You ought to know better than most what happened there." The rage seemed to flow up around him, tensing his muscles, begging for release. Harry clenched his fists, and then splayed out his arms defiantly. "You are him. Or a part of him. There's no fooling me."

"Sweet little broken bird. You _are_ curious about me. But I'm not quite the same." Riddle tilted his head, staring at Harry curiously. "Voldemort is not me. I don't remember any of those things."

Harry felt his confusion, bordering on fear- panic, even, the way his thoughts were curling in on themselves- and it made him angry. Who was this Tom Riddle, who dared to deny what Harry knew to be true?

But what could he do? He could do nothing in that graveyard- he could easily have been killed. Helplessness and anger made him stupid- made him talk. "Of course you are him. You are nothing _but_ him. How could you be anything else?" He started walking closer to Tom again, who stepped away as though it were a dance.

"I am only what I am, what I've always been." Tom reminded him. "I've never been Lord Voldemort." The words had a hypnotic quality to them, an utterly calm control that Harry envied. Riddle was nothing if not self-possessed.

Harry reached out for Tom, trying to hold him still enough to hit, trying to get him to stop speaking lies, to start answering _questions._ He barely noticed when they stepped over a classroom threshold.

"You said something clever there, haven't you?" Harry laughed, and even to him the sound was strange. He never laughed around Voldemort. He had always been...what. Scared? Panicked? Calm?

His hands finally made contact, and he pushed Riddle into the wall. He wanted to see the sneer, to hear that high, cold voice that Voldemort always had.

"But I'm not fooled." Harry whispered. He was surprised when Tom didn't jerk away, to cast a spell or pull a knife.

Riddle tilted his head, almost curious at what Harry would do next. "Are you going to kill me, Potter? Before you've even made certain what I am?" He caught Harry's wrist, and leaned in close. "Just like with the diary..." he hissed.

Riddle's grasp was cold, and it made Harry's hand tingle. He wondered if this was a curse. "What are you?"

He could feel Riddle's breath, could sense his pulse even through the layers of school issued uniform. He was no ghost, no memory. This was a real body. Harry felt himself begin to shake, overwhelmed by this unexpected turn. Riddle was real. Riddle was in Hogwarts.

_Riddle was real._

Tom smiled thinly. "It's odd that both of you see me for what I am...everyone else is under Dumbledore's spell." Riddle tapped a finger against the wall behind him. "Yes, Harry. Dumbledore. This has nothing to do with the other's plans. Now be a good boy, and let me go. Don't bother me. Don't get in my way. I've work to do."

Harry's head hurt. Not his scar, as he had suspected it would, but just because of all the things he was supposed to be doing, all the things he was feeling instead. He couldn't (wouldn't) trust Tom Riddle at his word.

"'_I ask you riddles, tell you tales, But all our conversation fails. You never answer me again- I fear you're dumb, Matilda Jane!'_" Harry shouted at the retreating figure.

Tom swirled about, his calm face changing to confusion. _"What?"_ Tom's confusion had surprised them both, ringing a word from him before he'd thought. Then all he had was disgust left to him, showing clearly on handsome features (_that didn't belong to him anymore,_ Harry thought). Then he cloaked his feelings once more with a smooth facade. "Is that a poem you're quoting at me?"

All thoughts of spells were gone from Harry's mind. "I know this is really an elaborate scheme of Voldemort's to try and kill me once and for all. It happens every year, you know…but I was sure it was the dreams..."

"What dreams?" Tom demanded.

Harry shook his head, mute.

Riddle licked his lips, considering. He stood there, thinking. Finally, he closed his eyes, as though remembering. "When once a meal I wished to taste, It said 'You must not bite.' When to the wars I went in haste, It said 'You must not fight.' 'What may I do?' at length I cried, Tired of the painful task. The fairy quietly replied, And said 'You must not ask.'"

Tom opened his eyes, which glinted with a strange light. That alone made Harry stare. (_Not red..._, he thought.)

"Do not ask me, Harry Potter. Ask Dumbledore. Or ignore me. Good day." And with that, Tom Riddle left the room.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o

(**Amazing Author Credits:** First poem: _Bessie's Song to her Doll,_ by Lewis Carrol. 2nd Poem, also Lewis Carroll: _My Fairy_.)

Everyone loves a good mystery, hm? But, in case not...

**Recap/ Cliff Notes**  
**1)** The graveyard Dark Ritual has messed Harry up. On the simplest level, it could be PSTD (Post traumatic stress disorder). Or it could be something more complicated (some kind of mental illness, or spell damage, for example).  
**2)** Tom Riddle has arrived in Hogwarts, but the rest of the school assumes Tom Riddle has always been there. **That paradox** is confusing Harry because his grasp of reality is already off.  
**3)** Tom has blamed Dumbledore. (HOWEVER, Tom Riddle does not have to tell the truth to his sworn enemy. He could be lying. He could be telling the truth though, just to confuse Harry.)

**The Plot:**  
**1)** Why is Tom Riddle in Hogwarts? Is this part of Voldemort's **weapon plan**? Or does Riddle play on his own side without helping Voldemort?  
**2)** How can a mentally troubled teenager help anyone?  
**3)** Can Harry make things work? - Self reevaluation. Self worth. Coming of Age story, to borrow from the young adult genre  
**4)** How, oh how, will Harry and Tom become anything more than enemies? also, can "mentally off" people be in relationships? (Hint: the warnings in the first chapter: HP/TR. )

If this story isn't your cup of tea, I am not offended if you push the back button. I'll never even know. :) That said, I hope you enjoyed it.

For those of you confused or curious:  
The mystery of Tom should be mostly cleared up by chapter 10 or 11. There will be another recap at the end of the chapter there, if you'd like to know _now_ (believe me, I know the feeling! Thanks for caring enough to be curious! :) ).


	5. Potions and Two-Way Mirrors

**A/N 1**: One or two of you wanted to know if this would be an anti!Dumbledore fic. Interesting question! So. While some of you may not like Dumbledore (or Ron, for that matter) in my story, it is **not** actually my intent to bash them/ write anti-Dumbledore or anti-Ron.  
Actually! Fic rec~! Read "Eldritch!" by Eldritcher. The author writes Dumbledore and 8 (I think) year old Riddle re~ally well. Really. Read it. It is pure genius.

**A/N 2**: so, to answer the Lockhart question very briefly, yes, Lockhart is important to the plot. He is Harry's Defense Teacher in the fifth year only, for the **first** time. There was another professor during Harry's second year: **Elphias Doge.** Doge is only important in passing. You can read the long version of Year Two on my Archive of Our Own account (the "fairy tale" in the next chapter is abridged.) To the purists who'd rather I didn't switch Lockhart's year, I'm sorry. :( But Lockhart was just too perfect to pass up when I needed someone to play a role...

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o0o0o0o0o

**Chapter 5:** Potions, Defense _and the Two-way Mirror_

The students had already taken their accustomed seats in the Potions classroom when Professor Snape entered. There was no chatter for him to frown at, but Harry noticed the thin line of annoyance that lingered on his face. His eyes swept over the motionless class as he strode purposefully among their tables.

"Though some you may not have realized it, as one number was missing during the Welcoming Feast and the following explanations, this year shall be strenuous, to say the least. I have one year to put you into shape—you will learn Ordinary Wizarding Level potions. As you know, I only take the best students for the advanced potions class. So many of us will have our happy goodbyes." His eyes lingered on Neville, and then Harry as he said this. "That day has yet to come, and so here we are. The instructions for today's potion are on the blackboard." He raised his wand, and sixteen long points appeared on the board.

Harry squinted. It looked as though it said, _Draught of Death_ for a moment, but then he adjusted his glasses, and it turned out to read, _Draught of Peace._ He gave a sigh of relief.

After some examination, Professor Snape's handwriting looked rather like a crow's, Harry decided. Even after adjusting his glasses several times, the letters still appeared thin, rather slanted, and suspiciously spidery for a crow's work. He wondered how many times a crow would have to prance to get that effect. He took out his textbook, looking for the same potion instructions. He flipped through the pages, and stopped when he found the title.

"This potion," Harry remarked to Ron who was on his left, "is particularly moody. It changes its colors at every step. Do you suppose it can't decide what color it likes? Either that or it likes bright colors, like Professor Dumbledore."

"The supply cabinet's open." Hermione reminded them as she returned with her hands full. "You really ought to get started! An hour and a half is hardly enough time."

Harry nodded vaguely, turning the page to the next potion. It was a much more interesting looking specimen (_Fairfellows Solution_: Increases Perception by 30%). Maybe he could make that. He was already making a catalogue of what to get from the cabinet and get started on this second potion when Snape gave a _cough_ behind him.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he cawed. "Do you find the class instructions lacking?"

"Couldn't see them properly." Harry replied, and this was more or less true now because everyone else had foggied up the room.

"Get back on task. You're behind." He started to stalk away before turning back with a flap of a wing feather and a cruel smile. "Ten points from Gryffindor for slacking."

Harry watched the crow hop away, giving insults to the other students as it went. He privately wondered why such comments used to make him angry, when now they inspired a mild sense of puzzlement and curiosity: how did a crow manage to say such cleverly biting remarks, when it only had a beak? No vicious teeth to speak of.

"Right." Harry said to no one in particular.

He finally went to the supply cabinet, textbook in hand and a basket fashioned of his Divination textbook. He vaguely remembered that Divination was just after this class, but that hadn't stopped him from pressing it into service.

Step after painstaking step, Harry helped the potion change its mood (and its color). A few times, the crow came by again, but Harry couldn't (wouldn't) make out its comments. He simply had no time for them. An hour and a half, it turned out, was barely enough time to help the potion with its metamorphosis.

Looking around the room, he found varying kinds of temperament in the other students' potions. Hermione appeared to be the only one who had a trace of silver steam and white, and the others had vastly different colors (from screaming black, unsuspecting gray to sultry pink, and one indiscriminant brown.) Harry's own potion was a lovely shade of orange. He thought it looked rather conspicuous though, and was just about to add the porcupine quills when Snape called time. Harry was going to add the porcupine quills anyway, but then the most mysterious thing happened. The potion disappeared.

Harry looked up, shocked.

"Your examiner will not appreciate you going overtime. When I call time, your hand stops moving." Snape said.

"Er." Harry said. "But you're not my examiner."

"That will be another ten points for cheek, and a zero for today's work."

Harry watched him go, thinking dark thoughts about crows. Putting them in a pie, chasing them into a house with no windows… he stood up and stormed out of the classroom, barely even noticing his friend's calls for him to stay. He wanted out _now._

"Ahem." That pink voice said. "Mr. Potter, is it not? Is there something the matter?" Harry was beginning to despise pink.

"No." He replied. "I'm going to class."

"Do watch where you're going, Mr. Potter," she reminded him in her simpering voice, "so that I won't have to assign another detention on top of your other punishments."

.

.

.

After Divination, Harry found Ginny in the library, sitting at one of the tables.

Ginny chewed her lower lip as she read, Harry realized as he watched her sit there, surrounded by books on ghosts as apparitions. Harry considered looking up a spell to look over people's shoulders to see what page she lingered over, but decided simply walking over would be best.

Ah. A page on how to vanquish (or possibly send on. The wording was vague) lost spirits and exorcize demons. "Is that for Professor Binns?" He asked curiously.

Ginny whirled around, her shoulders tensing. Although she tried to smile at Harry, her expression was decidedly startled. "No, it's not. It's about Tom."

"Ah." Harry said conversationally. "No one believes me, except you. But you know, I don't think whatever the diary was is exactly a spirit or demon…I thought he was a ghost of a memory, you know."

Ginny stared at Harry, her eyes looking large and questioning. "I don't believe he'd exactly tell us what he was even if he knew," She said quietly, but firmly. She cast a glance at the librarian, who was fixing Harry with a stern look.

"True. I had this crow who insisted that he was a bat once..."

Ginny looked skeptical. In fact, her face seemed suited to making all sorts of expressions.

"What do you mean?" She asked slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Just what I said." Harry was concentrating on the text again. He turned the page to see a fanciful illustration of a demon (or was it an ogre?) and a wizard who was trying to banishing it.

"You should consider your words more carefully." Ginny advised. "People can't make sense of them, so they think..." she hesitated then plowed on. "You heard what they think."

Harry shook his head, annoyed. "I am thinking." Instead of banishing the demon, the wizard in the book was devoured by it. It was an interesting picture. "I didn't really hear them…not listening. But Ron told me the papers say I'm a liar. I hate liars, though…"

Ginny gave him another long look. If Harry was feeling more unkind, he would say she starred. "You seem more and more like Luna these days..."

Harry vaguely remembered Luna. "She was the girl with the magazines." He said. "You like Luna." Harry pointed out. "You said she's ok."

"But you're not—you weren't," she glared at him defiantly. "Is this all an act? Or did the Dementors suck out all your sense?" Her face colored a deep red. "Or are you like this because of Cedric? What did they do to you on that day?"

Harry found that he liked how she looked directly into his eyes asking such, well, direct questions. He beamed at her. "You're acting just like someone I knew…stupidly brave, wears his emotions on his face and reckless with words. Who was it…"

"Fine! Be that way." Ginny settled down, stubbornly going through the pretense of reading. She looked miserable, which confused Harry. He stared at her a little longer.

There was a moment of silence as everyone in the vicinity sat stalk still.

"Your eyes aren't moving, Ginny. No one believes that you're reading," a familiar voice whispered from behind a row of books.

"Temper, temper, little sister!"

That was enough chatting for the day, apparently, because the previously silent librarian swooped down on them, her eyes fierce. She looked ready to howl. "This is a library! Be quiet, or get out," the librarian said, her voice barely under screaming herself. That, Harry thought, was rather rich.

Standing up as though bored, and completely unfazed by the lecture, George asked, "Lunch then, brother?"

"Harry— come to lunch with us." Fred invited, easy smiles and twinkling eyes, but Harry walked past them, heading for the astronomy tower.

He had a bit of napping to catch up on.

o0o0o0o

* * *

Defense class was surely going to be interesting this year, with a talkative teacher such as Lockhart.

"Oh!" Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "There you are. Sit down! Class is starting."

From the other side of the room, Patil was saying, "He's so handsome...do you think he'll tell us a few personal, uh, stories?"

"Let's hope he isn't a Potter worshiper." Seamus muttered to Dean. "Or this is going to be awkward."

Harry looked back, raising an eyebrow at Seamus. He wondered if this had anything to do with his ignoring Seamus at the breakfast table.

Perhaps Lockhart would have a flare for dramatics like Snape, and would burst through the door, his colorful peacock color robes flying behind him...or maybe he was really a cat or an owl or something, waiting to impress them all as McGonnagol had that one time.

The doors opened. Harry watched the famous professor make his entrance, frowning a bit at the odd style of Wizarding robes the man wore. But then, Harry didn't care much for fashion, aside from favoring simple styles over gaudy. Anything was better than Dudley's oversized hand-me-downs, after all.

Something nagged at Harry as he examined the blond man. It wasn't his sparkling teeth or the shining blue eyes, but rather something about his manner. Maybe it was the way he talked?

Harry tilted his head as the professor began to talk, holding up one of the textbooks (as gaudy and presumably stylish as their author). He watched the professor's arms dance, and his mouth move. Papers were being passed back. Harry looked to the blackboard to see "Pretest" written in ornate joined-up writing.

All very interesting, but it wasn't nearly as interesting as the still-beaming-ear-to-ear professor standing at the front of the class. Harry wondered if his mouth would hurt after his first day, or if he had built up his smiling muscles sufficiently before term started.

He glanced around the room, noticing the other changes. With Quirrel, there had been the mementos from world travels, such as the dragon skeleton, and the great iron chandelier. Professor Doge from second year had a penchant for weird hats and very old photographs, and also liked to show things from his travels, though occasionally he seemed to have forgotten what came from where. Lupin had secreted Magical Creatures away in tanks, cupboards, and jars. Then there was Moody, or the imposter Crouch, who had loved a clean, neat classroom but kept Foe Glass and other whistling things in his office.

Lockhart, on the other hand, had placed grinning portraits in the odd empty space, tacked up pretty lettering to write and rewrite itself on the walls: "Celebrity is as celebrity does" was prominent, and "We know best!" courtesy of the Ministry of Magic was just under a window. Harry stared at it, wondering how Lockhart got on with the Superintendent in Pink.

"Something caught your attention, Harry?" Lockhart had snuck up on him in the time Harry took in the scene.

Harry jumped belatedly. "No."

"Well, why don't you show us how much you remember from the assigned readings?"

Harry looked back at the pretest. His eye was drawn to, 'What is Professor Lockhart's favorite color?' He glanced up at the professor and scribbled, 'bright colorful robes the color of pretty birds.' He neglected to mention that he himself preferred more subtle shades, remembering how Lockhart was so preoccupied with himself.

From a row ahead of him, Hermione's hand shot into the air, waving almost frantically as her eyes flickered between Harry and the professor. "Excuse me, Professor?" she asked, and she finally relaxed a little when his attention turned away from Harry and onto her.

"Yes?" Lockhart asked, surprised to have his little exercise interrupted already.

"I'm sorry sir, but I thought this was from the _recommended_ readings list? Isn't our primary text _Defensive Magical Theory?_" Hermione asked briskly. She had a tiny smile, though and blushed when Lockhart appraised her.

"Yes, my dear…"

"Granger. Hermione Granger." She supplied.

"Yes Ms. Granger, it is, but I'm afraid that was the text _Superintendent Umbridge_ prescribed for us this year, and we shall certainly get our fill of it when she comes to, er, join us. For now, why don't you focus on the materials at hand?" Lockhart drew himself up impressively.

She nodded, and everyone turned back to the parchment.

"Very good, very good!" Lockhart replied when he had collected them all. "You all have done very well indeed. Yes, I should say so!"

Harry tuned out the voice for the next while, looking instead out the classroom window. He saw a bit of cloud, white and fluffy in the wide sky. He watched its progress, thinking idly of all the things he'd do if he weren't stuck in class instead. _Quidditch, exploring the castle with the Map, seeing what Riddle is up to…maybe finding Dumbledore…_ When a low voice startled him out of his reverie.

"Mr. Potter," it was really a kind voice, so Harry turned his gaze back on the foppish Professor. "I'd like you to help me reenact this chapter," he said, his teeth gleaming. "Open your copy of _Holiday with Hags,_ chapter twelve."

Harry fumbled through the stack of books and grabbed one.

"So I said to the hag," Lockhart's voice boomed, "Cast down your eyes, for a wizard has arrived!" He turned to look at Harry. "Cue."

Harry, who had been busily reading the text and skimming ahead, randomly picked a line that he liked. "But what big eyes you have," he intoned. Compared to Lockhart, his voice was rather flat. He tried again with another line. "Best beware the Big Fool of a Monster who owns these parts. I owe my allegiance to him!" There. That was a little better. He flipped the page.

Lockhart frowned tightly. "And after the Hag retreated, muttering apologies and begging for my _shampoo,_" in a lower voice, he hissed, "Harry, you're on the wrong book. Put that one down and pick up the _Holiday with Hags,_ won't you?"

"It isn't this one? Aren't they the same color?"

"This one," Lockhart handed Harry a book.

Harry looked at the page dubiously. "There's a picture of a hag using shampoo…"

"The page before that. You play the part of the Hag. Cower in fear, and then ask for shampoo."

Harry stared at the page blankly. "What does this have to do with Defense? Also, we already learned about lots of Dark Creatures in third year with Professor Lupin. And our second year teacher taught a lot about easy creatures too…"

"Harry, you are the hag. Please demonstrate."

Harry looked back down to the book, trying to see how Lockhart had dealt with it. He took out his wand and said "Titillando!" in a lazy manner.

Lockhart dissolved into near hysterical giggles, and struggled to catch his breath to say the counter. Or perhaps he just didn't know it.

"Harry!" Hermione said, aghast.

Ron snorted with laughter along with the rest of the class.

At last, Harry cast the counter jinx. "And that was how I kept the hags at bay," Harry read, and sat down.

More chortling met that remark, and Lockhart's pinkish face turned oddly white as he stared at Harry. "Well!" He raised his eyebrows, and he looked rather like a startled owl for a moment. He seemed to be at a loss of what to say. "I see that Harry wished very much to emulate me in my travels," Lockhart gave a hearty chuckle.

Harry rather thought his smile might have a hint of malevolent intent, however, the way his gaze lingered. Then Lockhart spun around, his pretty (though very bright) robes spinning as he turned back to the lesson. Harry decided his time was better spent reading the books at random, jotting down the spell names and studying the castle's walls. They had never seemed quite so interesting before, and while listening to someone read a story book was a new experience, it was not particularly enlightening.

So he dozed off in his seat, and waited for the class to end.

* * *

o0o0o0o

The second day of classes heralded an average, though-altogether tasty breakfast. Harry even managed to not watch Tom Riddle for half of it, though this was perhaps thanks to intervention from a Stranger Owl that brought him a letter.

"Hey." Harry said to it. "Where's Hedwig?" He also noticed the owl drop a letter on Hermione's lap—it was rather discreet, all things said. Harry eyed the owl and the mysterious letter, instantly more interested in Hermione's than his own.

Hermione's cheeks warmed under the attention, and she refused to let Harry see it. This gave Harry no choice but to open his own.

_Harry,_

_Use my mirror, you. You haven't even opened it. Also, don't reply by owl. Hermione mentioned the Superintendent, and if she's a stooge for the Ministry, who knows what lows she'll stoop to. I hope you're done ignoring me. The mirror warms when I want to talk. You won't notice if it's wrapped in your socks with your Sneakoscopes. _

_All my best,  
Snuffles _

_PS. Talk to your friends. Don't bottle things up  
Burn this letter after you've read it. (I've always wanted to write that.)_

Ah. Well that explained a few things. Hermione's letter was either from Snuffles too, or from Molly Weasley, who might still be living in the Black House. Perhaps Hermione had asked advice of Sirius?

"_Accio_ Hermione's letter." Harry said clearly. Hermione squeaked, but was too late to keep it from flying out of her hands. Harry leapt from his seat, caught the flying letter, and began to make a hasty retreat.

From the Slytherin table, there was a rather whiny complaint. "We've got a letter thief!" That might have been Malfoy.

"Barmy, he is."

"Off his rocker!"

Harry heard some cheering and egging-on by some of the Gryffindors (the twins): "Run Harry, run!" and also offended, indignant cries: "Give Hermione her private correspondence back!" (Patil said, and sometimes Ron echoed the sentiment, interestingly). The letter appeared to have been Accio-ed back, but Harry had a rather firmer grip than Hermione had, and so it stayed put with only a wriggle here and there.

_Hermione,_

_Yes, I can see why you'd be worried. Dolores Umbridge_(He skipped the rest of that paragraph, skimming for more interesting information.)

_Whatever you do, don't attract attention to him. That's the worst you could do at this point. Use those research skills of yours to find out what happens in, well, you know._ (Harry, in fact, did not. He frowned in indignation at Sirius, who obviously was neglecting his explanation.)

_Borrow Harry's mirror. We have things to discuss.  
Snuffles_

Outside of the Great Hall, Harry sighed, letting go of the letter and watching it fly back to its owner. He gave Hermione what he hoped was a pained look. "I'll only loan you my mirror if I'm there too." He said quietly. "You want to talk about me, don't you?"

"For heaven's sake, let me read it first!" Hermione huffed.

"I know for a fact that you read faster than I do. You've probably read it twice over by now." Harry noted.

"What if the teachers saw that?" Ron demanded, coming up from his seat. "You could get detention. Or lose points!"

Harry privately wondered if Accio-ing letters was really against the rules. He made a noncommittal response. "Let's go get the mirror. It wasn't very satisfying letter, was it?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I haven't read either, so I wouldn't know." They hurried out on.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry held up the pair of socks containing the mirror and sneakoscope. "Did you hear how it works?"

"Say his name." Ron instructed. "That's a two-way mirror, isn't it? He was talking about it…you really should have talked to him more while we were there. Sirius, he doesn't like being cooped up after being on the run and getting out of prison and all that. Poor bloke was going stir-crazy!"

"Yeah. I feel like that at the Durlseys." Harry commented. "No news and all." He gave them a significant look.

Hermione sniffed. "We already apologized and explained. Now are you going to call Sirius, or am I?"

The mirror in hand, Harry looked at it, noting his reflection and then warm colors of the common room that stretched out behind him. "Sirius Black." He muttered. "Snuffles." Not sure which would work. "Padfoot?"

Sirius must have known how long it would take for the owl to arrive, because his answer was almost immediate. His beaming face filled the reflective surface like a glimmering slice of light.

Without any sort of pretense, Harry began. "If you're going to be talking about me, I want to be there when you talk. I'm handing her the mirror now."

Sirus looked surprised at that, and Harry heard him sigh heavily even as Hermione adjusted the mirror. "I still don't know why you're angry with _me._ I'm as much of a prisoner of this godforsaken house here as you were there. We should be conspiratorially collaborating to escape together."

"Nice alliteration. But conspiratorially collaborating to…what's a c-word for escape… cut lose? Cut away?"

"Is he still doing that?" Sirius sounded vaguely aggrieved.

"Yes." Ron informed them. "All bloody day. Apparently he and Riddle had a poetry contest in the hall, even."

"You don't say." Sirius sounded supremely disinterested.

Harry, who had noticed Sirius's lack of reaction to Riddle, looked curious. He was eager to start on that vein of the conversation as soon as Hermione was finished with her turn. He fidgeted, trying to keep hold of the slippery thought. _Ask Sirius about Riddle. Ask Sirius about Riddle._ But it darted away, as swift as a silver fish, when Hermione asked,

"Isn't there something we can do for him? Get him a therapist for…um, traumatic experiences? I think he must have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or something. I mean, I don't think it's a psychosis. Don't you think?"

"Hey. He's not a bloody psycho." Ron interrupted hotly.

"That's not what it means, Ron!" Hermione scoffed, her pitch raising a fraction into what Harry termed her Know-it-all Voice. "Psychosis and psychotic refers to someone's reality being permanently impaired. But Harry knows what's real. Right?" She looked up at him suddenly. "I think you have a lot of calling cards of post-traumatic stress disorder instead. But what am I saying, none of you know what I mean!" She took a deep breath and closed her eyes before meeting Sirius's gaze. "You just want us to pretend that nothing's wrong. That's not going to make it go away."

Ron shifted again. "You don't want people to think he's a Nut Case, Hermione. They'd lock him up, put him in St. Mungo's. Right now, people just think he's…you know. Like Luna. Or lying. Or trying to get attention or something."

_And that's preferable to my reality being different?_ Harry wondered silently. _How can you tell if your reality is different from someone else's?_ His stomach flopped uncomfortably, and he shied away from a nagging thought that said, _something is different than before. Something has changed._ But he didn't want to look at it, didn't want to confront it just yet.

"Harry, he's fine. He's strong, just like his dad." There was another awkward pause. "You're fine, right, Harry? Just try not to stand out, hear? Don't go making any jokes about people being owls, and for gods' sakes, stop quoting poetry."

Harry crossed the distance to Hermione, and peered over her shoulder.

"Maybe he should be seen by the Spell Damage healers though. Do you think it could be the Ritual?"

At this, Harry froze like a rabbit under the fierce gaze of an owl hunting. He sidestepped quickly toward the stairs leading to the fifth dormitories and picked up his pace even as Hermione made placating apologies.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I should have known you wouldn't want to talk about it. Harry!" She called after him.

Harry saw Ron put one hand on her shoulder before he turned away again. He didn't need these questions; they wouldn't help. He found a nice spot to disappear in for a while. A little alcove, just the same size as his old cupboard, mostly hidden by a potted plant. Before he sat, he arranged it just so that its best leaves faced out, and covered as much of the space from prying eyes as possible. Harry hadn't bothered memorizing that year's schedule, so it didn't bother him at all to take an unscheduled nap.

_Sometimes, you're just more tired than others._ He thought to himself. There would be Young dark lords to fight later in the day, and possibly another mystery to unravel. All he had to do was sit back and let it all happen.

The answers would come to him; they always did.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o

**A/N:** I cut out the Potions scene here. Read in full on my AO3 account. Thank you for reading!


	6. Bloody lines: Detention

**Thank you** for all reviews, favorites, follows and reviews again. :) This is nearly the most follows I've ever had.

**Carroll-Dictionary:** these are words Lewis Carroll created.

*Bandersnatch: a creature with a long neck, snapping jaws, and is described as ferocious and extraordinarily fast in "Hunting of the Snark" and "Through the Looking Glass".  
*frabjous: a combined word (portmanteau) composed of the words "fabulous" and "joyous."  
*frumious: combined from 'fuming' and 'furious.'  
*Jubjub bird: a fierce bird with a shrill and high voice.  
*Snark: a purposefully-left-vague scary creature. I think it's described as 'unimaginable.'  
*Whiffling: (not technically created by Carroll, but a more popular word in his time than ours.) It means to breathe unevenly, and has an undertone of "being variable and evasive" according to Carroll scholars.  
(Chortled, and burbled are also Carroll words. :D isn't that cool? They became words! Ah, I am such a nerd... XD)

Also, note on fairy tales; _Childe Rowland_ could be referring to an untested knight as well as a literal child. Hard to say.

* * *

_**Chapter 6: **Bloody lines: Detention _

oOoOo

The Superintendent in Pink was at her worst. She had cornered Harry in the hall after dinner during the first week of classes, and she had smiled her frog-like smile. "Going somewhere, Mr. Potter?" she simpered.

Harry eyed her suspiciously. "I'm going to the Gryffindor Tower." He said resolutely.

"It's in the opposite direction. You shouldn't lie, my dear."

Harry stared.

Harry must have breathed too harshly because Umbridge asked, "What was that?"

"Nothing." Harry said, confused. He really hadn't said anything, he thought. Perhaps he was staring aloud…

"Do you know who I am?" Her lips curled. She asked, starting to use very broad gestures and speaking in an exaggeratedly slow voice. "Do you understand me? I've heard from your classmates that you've been...illogical all week. You speak nonsense." She nodded her head, and gave a fake smile. "Gone insane, they said?"

Harry turned red. "I can understand you perfectly, Superintendent Umbridge. I'm not an idiot, and I'm not insane." He started to turn away.

"Manners, Mr. Potter." She said softly. Her hand stretched out to touch him on the shoulder, and he tensed away. "Are you telling me that you have been misbehaving on purpose?" she asked slyly, pressing her advantage.

"I haven't been misbehaving." Harry replied. "I've been going to classes and doing my work."

"Do not lie to me." She offered a thin smile. "I've been told you are quite the cheeky little fellow. Twice now in five minutes you've spoken rudely and lied outright. Detention. You seem to be...quite free, so you shall serve it _now._"

Words filled Harry's head, teasing and ready to escape, but he knew he must not say them, not to this woman. _Beware the Jubjub bird*, and shun The frumious* Bandersnatch*!"_ He thought.

In so doing, the walk to Umbridge's office seemed quite short. _So this is the lair of the Bandersnatch… _Although she did not have a long neck, she did have goggly eyes, and while her jaw was normal, she certainly seemed ferocious and fast with her task—making Harry miserable at Hogwarts. (And possibly distracting the teachers, though that might require a more snapping jaw…)

When they came to the door, Harry noticed immediately the close proximity to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. His gaze lingered on it, remembering the imposter Moody (_call him Crouch Jr._ he reminded himself), and he stopped before it. Then the door opened.

A surprised (and very delightfully so) Lockhart beamed at the two of them, his brilliant turquoise robes slooshing a bit slowly with his no-longer-flamboyant movements. "Superintendent Umbridge!" He burbled happily. "Harry! Superintendent! What a pleasant surprise." (or had he said "frabjous* day?")

"Excuse me Professor," Umbridge said, oozing false politeness. "Harry here has detention with me. Come with me, Harry. Sit there," she gestured at a desk, which already had parchment and a quill lying atop it. "You will write lines."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid _I_ have him for detention this evening as well… He hadn't mentioned having detention with you when we scheduled it. I'm afraid I really am so busy, that I can't afford to change the time…It is a rather demanding schedule, my position." Ah, and there were those shiny teeth.

_Were those teeth of the Vorpal blade, or the Jaberwocky?_

"Begin writing, Mr. Potter. I think 'I must not tell lies,' will do nicely."

"How many?" Harry asked, acutely aware of Lockhart still standing in the doorway.

"Oh, as many as it takes for the message to sink in." She nodded for Harry to begin. "Use my quill, Mr. Potter. Professor," she said, her eyes still downcast to watch Harry sit before the quill. She was reluctant to let Harry out of her sight to the extent that she would ignore a professor standing in her door.

Harry took the quill. It was a long, thin thing that looked as though it had been pulled from a particularly sour bird. The tip was very sharp, by the look of it, and the cold metal grip was thin and unwieldy. He examined it for a moment before saying, "There's no ink."

Lockhart too eyed the quill. His exuberant expression folded in on itself. "Excuse me, Professor, but how long is his detention with you?" He asked.

"An hour." Umbridge huffed. "If you will please let us get to it?" She made a little waving motion.

"Of course!" Lockhart chortled. Harry's vision seemed to double, making the man seem making the man seem halfway gone. "I'll just come to fetch him then. Your naughty thing, Harry! Really, aren't you taking this bad press image too far?" He smiled winningly.

Harry's stomach flopped. "Professor." He nodded, wondering how to ask for help without asking.

Professor Lockhart, however, took no more notice of Harry.

Harry set the quill to the top of the parchment. He leaned forward, trying to avoid the noises of the beasts behind him. He knew Lockhart had not left because of that noise, _Snicker-snack!_ Just as he looked up, Harry felt a sharp pain in his hand. He let out a surprised noise but thought that neither could hear him for their whiffling*.

Finally, the door closed, leaving him alone with the Bandersnatch. "What's this? Only one line? You'll need to pick things up, Mr. Potter."

He peered at the quill. It dripped with red, and when he put the quill to paper again, the stinging returned. Its teeth were very sharp indeed, the Bandersnatch, though hidden behind a soft countenance.

He tried writing gingerly, without pressing so hard to the paper. It made no difference. Harry wrote, and wrote, no longer watching as his skin healed after each line.

Umbridge smiled at him with her long thin smile, and her eyes seemed alive with malice. "We have accomplished quite a bit, haven't we? I didn't think you would come so quietly, but I suppose," she leaned in, and Harry felt her presence like a black shadow over the room. "You know we need to help you. It hurts, doesn't it? Pain teaches a sharp lesson, and it will stick with you."

Harry rubbed at the sore spot on his hand, left pink from repeated injury. His thoughts focused mostly on the pain of it, and how close the monster was. His eyes flicked between her and the paper. "Professor?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Superintendent." She corrected, sounding very smug indeed.

There was a knock on the door. "All finished, Superintendent? I'll be taking Harry to my office for detention."

Harry's head swam. He thought he heard Umbridge continue, but the voice was distant.

_"Are you feeling woozy, Mr. Potter? I should have noticed that blood loss would bring back memories...did the Dark Lord take your blood too?" The Bandersnatch leaned in close. "Did he drink it?" Saliva glistened on the beast's lip._

Harry jerked away. "Stop." His word was a command, and his magic curled around him with the one word.

For a moment, she flickered before his eyes. She seemed like a ghastly worm of a monster, and then she was just the woman in pink making small-talk with Lockhart. Harry couldn't make sense of the words she was saying, but he knew the expression. He should take it as a warning.

_"Have you lost your top?" Lockhart asked unexpectedly. "Are you in need of more tea? That should replace the blood, don't you think, Superintendent?" _

Harry turned to look at him, but instead of the mythical monster that would have matched the Bandersnatch, he saw only the blond professor. His skin was pale, true, and his blue eyes very dull indeed, but he was human. If only just.

"Professor?" Harry wrinkled his brow.

"Come with me, Harry. You have another detention to serve," the words seemed slow and full of shadows. Shadows behind his eyes, under his feet. "Thank you, Dolores. I'll see that he's properly punished."

Harry stood up, barely remembering to bring what few things he'd had when the Superintendent cornered him. He left the office, feeling eyes on his back the entire way.

"Harry, Harry." Lockhart sighed dramatically as he closed the door to the Defense Against Dark Arts office. Lockhart didn't immediately continue, giving Harry a chance to look around.

It was much changed from when Crouch-Moody had occupied it. There were more portraits than the space ought to comfortably allow, as well as a number of decorative awards with spidery writing. Many faces of Lockhart grinned and winked at the occupants, offering sage Ministry-Sanctioned Advice. The office seemed unusually cold, though, which struck Harry as odd. Someone like Lockhart, he would have thought, would have wanted luxuries, he felt. He looked up, wondering what the portraits and plaques could be hiding.

"Well?" Lockhart said finally. "What do you have to say for yourself?" Oddly, Lockhart's words were jumbled. He also seemed to be saying (at the same time, even), _"Beware the Jubub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!"_

"She made me write lines, sir." Harry mumbled. He rubbed the spot where Wormtail had cut him, trying to massage out the ache which started there and ended in his fingertips.

Lockhart gave a sympathetic chuckle. "Oh, I can see that the Superintendent isn't popular among you students, but Harry, Harry, Harry. Just because I was there to offer punishment of my own this time doesn't mean you can brazenly cast magic at a professor. Superintendent. You're lucky she thought it was accidental magic."

What was he talking about? Harry went over the events that happened in the detention, trying to separate them.

Lockhart began to talk in a light and arrogant manner, going on about the trials of fame, but Harry was too busy looking at his shadow. Would it be like Peter Pan, and be sewn to his foot?

"There's the stack there, Harry. Go ahead and get started."

Harry eyed the large stack of envelopes and finally said, "So I'm to address your fan mail."

"Celebrity is as celebrity does!" Lockhart quipped, and told Harry to set to work without another word.

The time passed slowly. Earlier that summer, Harry had watched the twins casting charms on quills, and he'd taken their technique and the incantation to memory. It came in handy now, with Lockhart more than willing to chatter happily and ignore Harry's use of the time. So Harry let his quill do most of the work, occasionally nudging it when the thing started to write on the wrong surface. After some time, Lockhart had dinner brought in for them, though Harry only nibbled on a sandwich.

Finally, Lockhart said, "That will be all for tonight. Don't expect a treat like this every time you get a detention! Off to bed with you now, and mind you go straight to your dormitory."

"Good night, professor." Harry's vision was mostly back to normal after the monotony of overseeing letter addresses. Although he had watched both Lockhart and his shadow, nothing amiss was easily seen.

Harry made his way back to Gryffindor tower.

* * *

o0o0o0o

The following day, Harry went to the corridors sooner than usual. The morning light was soft on the castle walls, and Harry thought he'd find a place to be himself. A place away from all the students and teachers, where his thoughts could be his own.

"You're out early," one of the paintings said to him.

"Yes." Harry replied, and moved on without further comment.

He thought of going to the Owlery, but decided against it. Sending an early letter was hardly unusual, and if he wanted to avoid people, somewhere else would be better.

"Going somewhere?" a familiar voice sneered.

"It isn't time for classes." Harry replied, his stubborn streak cropping up. "I can go anywhere I like."

"Can you?" Snape glided into view. He looked down his big nose directly at Harry.

Harry wavered, honestly not knowing if he was rule-breaking or not.

Snape pressed his advantage. "You've had detention with both the Superintendent and Lockhart." He stepped into Harry's path to block an easy escape. "Why?"

"Well." Harry remarked. "Umbridge gave me detention first, but then to get me out, I think, Lockhart said that he'd given me a detention first. There was a scheduling issue, and I missed dinner." All true, even. He felt particularly pleased at that—Snape would be annoyed, but Harry was doing no wrong.

"Why did Umbridge give you detention?"

"She said I was a liar." Harry's eyes narrowed.

"You haven't been telling her about the Dark Lord, have you?" Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "How many times must we tell you? Those who will listen already have heard. You won't be converting Fudge's lapdog with your tales."

"They aren't tales." Harry insisted. "But you wouldn't know, since you weren't there. Not much of a spy, are you?"

Snape flushed with anger. "You have no idea."

"Apparently." Harry agreed wryly, though Snape didn't seem to understand the humor. "Are we done?"

Snape snorted and nodded sharply. He started to turn away.

Harry remembered his question with sudden clarity, and it burst out of his lips. "You knew, didn't you?" He asked. "That Voldemort's come to Hogwarts."

"I don't follow." Snape crossed his arms as he turned back toward the boy.

"Was it really Dumbledore who set the forgetfulness, or was it really Voldemort?"

"Have some sense!" Snape hissed, alarm and anger blurring in the lines of his mouth. He looked agitated for a moment before smoothing his features. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Which is it?" Harry demanded. "Have sense or forget? You can't have it both ways."

At that, Snape frowned more pronouncedly, and his harsh look froze. Some gears seemed to be whirring in his head, and it was only polite that Harry give him a chance to sort through the mess without getting overheated. "How long have you…suspected the Dark Lord of infiltrating these halls?"

It wasn't the question Harry was expecting. "Since the first night."

"And who have you told?"

"Ron. Hermione. Ginny. And the young Dark Lord himself, but he mostly avoids me."

Snape's expression changed again, relaxing just a bit. He mustered a jeering laugh at the last moment, and said, "Ah. Back to that daydream, are you?"

"Riddle hasn't been here for that long." Harry insisted. "Everyone just _thinks_ he has. It's the spell, that much I know. But I don't think Dumbledore did it. So, what do—"

"You have never confided in me before." Snape interrupted. "Why the sudden urge to have this…heart-to-heart?"

"You weren't at the graveyard." Harry replied.

Snape sighed and did something strange with his wand. An apple appeared in one hand, and something smoking in a beaker held in the other. Snape asked, "Which is real?"

Harry's eyebrows flew into his hair. "Why?"

"Which is real, Mr. Potter?" Snape insisted.

Harry waved a hand through the smoke of the one and jabbed the other. "You summoned an apple from the kitchens, and that looks like Pepper-Up potion."

"Would you drink it?" Snape extended the hand. There was no handy _drink me_ attached.

"No." Harry backed up quickly. "It might not be. You might be a double spy."

"Would you eat it?" Snape's lips twitched.

"Don't eat strange foods." Harry said very quickly, thinking of second year and the potioned cupcakes that put Crabbe and Goyle to sleep for the duration of their Polyjuice venture.

"Is it real?" Snape asked again, cryptically. "_Could_ you eat it?"

"…yes." Harry replied. "But I won't."

"Quite." Snape commented irritably. "But _neither_ are real." He dropped them both, but instead of shattering or bouncing, they vanished without a sound.

"But I—"

"You merely assumed the apple had presence." Snape said. "You clearly do not possess enough logic to deduce whether or not the Dark Lord is here. Leave Riddle out of your games, and concentrate on your classwork."

With that unhelpful suggestion, Harry took a few further steps back. "That test is rubbish. You don't know any better than I do. I'll find him." He paused reflectively. "But after breakfast. And after sufficient alone-time. But definitely after that."

Snape merely watched him go.

* * *

o0o0o0o

(Tom)

All around me students go in and out of the stacks like so many ants.

I hold my breath as footsteps come near where I browse, half afraid and half hoping that the spell will fail, that they will see me for what I am. But how could they know, or understand, when even I have my doubts? Voldemort's orders _my orders_, my own plans had not taken such accepting, blatant cooperation into account.

But as always, the footsteps veered away, and none approached. Frustrated or bored, their conversation seemed inanely happy, petty even. These young children, in the great castle to study magic, and not a one of them appreciated it.

I could continue pouring over ancient ritual books, potions and stories filled with cryptic hints. It seemed in a few scant days I had become a regular fixture in the library; completely ignorable and not worth even looking at. I despised that fact, even as I utilized it.

"Did you have Umbridge in your class today? I can't believe she interrupted Flitwick during his lecture! It was funny at first, but then she started saying stuff about 'not ministry approved this,' and 'you ought to know better about that', and treating us like we're all primary students. It was horrible." One girl said, and I spied a glimpse of her through a gap in the books.

Her companion wasn't so interested, though, and so gave only a vague comment that I didn't care to listen to. Something about the foul nature of the toad, no doubt.

"I was thinking though... all those things in the paper, they don't add up, right? He can't be the Boy Who Lies if there are really people... you know..." he lowered his voice, "disappearing?"

The girl dropped a book and made a small squeaking noise. "There's no proof...and none of those stories are printed in the paper!"

"Yeah, erm, yeah. You're right. My older brother was probably just trying to take the mickey outta me." He gave a strained laugh. "No way people are _really_ disappearing..."

Their voices faded as they went down the aisle, and I couldn't catch more of the conversation. As enlightening as it was, it didn't seem very likely that they'd know anything about the outside. Communication was strained- even for me.

I moved away from the local magic section, and headed back to the shelves dealing with ritual magic. Again. There must be something I can use…something to shed some light on the mysterious ritual that took place at the end of last year. The goal was simply to give us a new body, wasn't it? But why, then, did I have no memory of it, and why was Harry Potter so very… fragile.

Frustrated, I tapped my fingers against the wood of the shelf.

Harry Potter...the boy the entire school is thinking about, but no one will quite believe. His state of mind is an entirely unprecedented complication, and so he offers an element of random accident (happenstance?) that not even I could predict.

I paused as gold foil caught the light- a book embossed and likely engraved with precious inks from long ago. The title was whimsical, though, and like the area I'd just abandoned, seemed too specific to be of any use. _Fairy Tales and other Nonsense stories_ I lingered, nevertheless.

"What are you doing?"

I froze. It was Potter.

The simple question, so carefully worded was like trying to interpret a trail of breadcrumbs when he spoke so very little. "Is that a book on fairy tales?" Harry breathed, his voice hitching oddly.

I watched him from the corner of my eye. "It is."

"What are you reading fairy tales for?" He asked curiously, and I took the opening to take a step back. By doing so, I noticed the state of his school robes, and his glasses. However, the way he shifted from foot to foot was more telling.

"Have you just come in from the _grounds?_" I felt my lip curl. "You're dirty."

Harry didn't turn his head to look at me, still fixated on the book of fairy tales. "I just had Herbology..." he mumbled, an obvious lie as it was the weekend. "Did you know you can see the unseen and things better from the corner of your eye? I think I read that in a story about fox women in Japan... But you look just the same no matter how I look at you... you must be very clever to manage that."

I looked at the boy without comment, and decided that the best course of action was walking to the library table, where my more common school books lay. He couldn't very well continue the conversation right in front of the librarian.

Harry didn't notice though, either by happy coincidence or by design, he managed to block my path. "Dumbledore didn't cast the spell." He said decisively.

So maybe he _would_ continue the conversation in front of the librarian. It could be that the safety precautions of the curse (the memory charm, if I was to be precise) wouldn't accommodate for idiot fey children. I decided to ignore his comment. "You should clean off before entering the library. You look like riffraff off the street."

"Dumbledore wouldn't! He wouldn't, not with you being the young Voldemort." Harry paced back to the bookshelf, and dislodged the book of fairy tales. "Does it have Tom Tit Tot?" He leafed through the pages, doubtlessly leaving dirty fingerprints all over it.

I stared at him, wondering if this was just another way for him to show his disdain, or if this was an example of how very addled he was. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Your name is secret too." Harry muttered. "I was wondering how the girl in the story figured it out- and she had power over Tom Tit Tot when she knew it." He flashed a smile, and I felt a jolt of unease.

Old anger and frustration with my birth name rolled around in my stomach. I kept my face expressionless, uninterested, and I made no word to contradict him.

"_Her husband came across That which was small and black, and singing to itself 'Name me, name me not, Who'll guess it's Tom-Tit-Tot.' _It was chance and stupidity of That who revealed his own name..." Harry met my gaze. "Voldemort will be his own undoing." He said simply, as though it needed no more explanation than that- chance and stupidity.

"So your luck will see you through?" I controlled the smile that crept up on me, and something itched to grab his hand, to bend the fingers in until the bones creaked and blood ran. "I don't see what that has to do with me."

Harry shrugged. "You haven't done anything." He said simply. "So you must be part of the stupidity, I think, rather than the pride... Maybe you're that bit that'll lead Voldemort to ruin. Do you need this back?" He gestured at the book.

"Thank you." I accepted the book, making note to take the dirt from it later. Maybe some tiny bit of his essence could be gathered from the dust and oil accumulated from his hands, and I would discover something about the Boy Who Went Mad. At this point, anything would be better than what I had.

Harry shifted again now that his book was gone, and I wondered what the rest of the student population made of him. To the untrained eye, it probably looked as though his attention wandered, that he was bored with the world around him. They might even see his strange words as 'attention seeking,' or some such rot. I wondered if they noticed his tendency to fixate on things, the way his mind latched on and would not let go...

I pulled out a quill from my bag, and uncurled a bit of parchment I had been taking notes on. "I heard you stole a letter from Hermione." I said it carefully, as though I heard the information from some second hand source. Like I hadn't been in the hallway, avoiding the students and staff as much as any fugitive. "You mentioned something interesting..."

Harry looked up, and his green eyes sparkled just as much as the gold leaf on the book's spine had. A smile quirked his lips. "It wasn't much of a letter. What's it to you?" While my eyes were distracted by the baffling expression and vague words, one of his hands took hold of the book again.

I let him tug our hands out and up, so that the book lay between us. Then I tilted my head, and focused on a first year spell to make it float, then removed my hands before his grimy fingers could incriminate me as well. "You'll get it dirty." I noted. "Hermione wasn't pleased," I suggested, hoping he'd continue the conversation and not immediately digress to another fairy tale.

"Hermione likes rules and logic." Harry said decisively. "Why are you giving me your book?"

"I was hoping to get the story straight," I muttered, trying to sound chagrined. I hoped he'd see the 'poor loner' that everyone else seemed to see, that the memory charm would suddenly work wonders on him.

"Keep your mind moving, Riddle, or you'll be trapped beneath the water and drown. Though I think you'd make a nice flower." Harry said conversationally, so utterly out of context and ripe with meaning just lurking beneath his words.

Something clicked into place. His words had a double meaning, and they only just started to make sense: Water, flower, drowning, warning. The facts whirled around my thoughts, and I remembered an old Greek myth. _Narcissus, who would have drowned after longing for his own reflection in water. Had he not been changed to a flower, Narcissus's mirror would be a watery grave._ From that, I worked out the other meaning, the one that applied here and now.

Harry Potter had a bloody mirror, likely enchanted. He was using it for something that might be dangerous, wasn't he? I knew in that instant that it had to be _mine._

But first, I had to check—was he really talking about mirrors? I began, "Some reflections are dangerous. Not only truth can hide in mirrors."

Sure enough, his attention snapped back on me. "I guess." Harry said guardedly, and his hands clenched. I imagined him pulling at restraints with those same long fingers, the nails broken and bleeding. Wouldn't that be something?

"You think I don't belong." I muttered, stilling the smile that threatened my composure. "Why is that?"

"Because I saw you." Harry replied much too quickly. "In the forest, remember? (*1)"

True, and he hadn't seemed particularly bothered by the strong magic that should have cloaked me. Not then, and not now, Harry Potter was ever unaffected by the wards, sigils, and charms driven deep into my flesh and bones. "I've been here since your second year." I reminded him lightly, breathing out the vestiges of another memory charm.

"If that were true," Harry dropped his gaze and flipped a few pages in the heavy anthology, "you ought to tell me your version of it."

"The Chambers of Secrets." I said slowly. "The youngest Weasley was captured, but you slew the beast, and so everyone was happy."

"Wrong." He glared. "If you were really there, you'd have been everyone's guess. But it was Malfoy and me, wasn't it?"

I shrugged. "People didn't know my name meant anything until the end." It was simple guesswork, but I couldn't let on just yet how little I knew. What little information I'd been trusted with.

His shoulders slumped. It was true, and he knew it. It would've cut a sharper edge if he realized how easily I played him, but for now he only leaned against the books. I imagined his heart racing, his breathes coming ragged, and how hot his blood would run.

"You ought to stop talking about me like that. Also about the Dark Lord. They'll only assume the worst of you if you continue." I tried to mask the mockery as kind advice, but it came out hard as nails.

"Why are you here?" he asked again.

"To learn magic. To be someone—not the Dark Lord, but someone better." _Let him believe that._ The words tasted bitter, even as a half-formed notion to trick the Boy Who Lived into believing that I could be salvaged. But in some small sense, it was true. I do want to be better—not defeated, more than a wraith, and commanding more than a paltry sum of Death Eaters.

"You don't know." Potter replied slowly. "That's why Dumbledore's not throwing you out." Interesting, how he refused to implement Dumbledore as the caster of the memory charm, even now. "He thinks you're…" but he trailed off, swallowing the words.

I had to wonder at the boy. His leaps in logic were barely discernible, but he landed so close to what I _didn't_ want him to know. "You can't condemn the blood of children." I quipped, and nodded at the fat tome still in his hands. "Any book of fairy tales will tell you: children are clever, quick, and innocent."

Harry nodded dubiously before freezing. "That's not true. Child Roland is violent." He argued. Gryffindors.

"Yes. Well. Goodbye Harry. I don't have any more time to waste." I pushed past him and muttered, "Tell me your fairy tale some other day."

Harry watched me go, and I went to plan. He'd given me much to think about, the mirror to say the least. Then a thought struck me. It was worth a shot—and I doubted the mirror would go careening out of his dormitory window without someone realizing it. But here in the library, no one would be the wiser…

_Accio._ I thought, and sure enough, something silvery and heavy poked out of Potter's abandoned school bag. The mirror. I held out my hands to catch it and smiled.

Harry would never know what hit him.

* * *

o0o0o0o


	7. Creatures, Fairy Tales, and Dreams

******A/N: **Feb 26 is Fairy Tale Day. So you got a fairy tale. ;)

**Chapter Seven:** Creatures, Fairy Tales, and Dreams

Harry woke up with a start. He'd dreamed of a mix of Fairy Tales and the last week's events, and it all wound up tangled in his head. It was, he realized belatedly, Sunday, and that meant—

"Where were you for Quidditch tryouts?" Ron demanded once he realized Harry was awake. "Did you have detention _again?_"

Harry rubbed at his eyes. "Yes, I had detention... Quidditch. What about Quidditch?" A curly, worried feeling burbled in his stomach. Had he missed a game? Been kicked off? "Did I miss practice?"

"Practice? You missed tryouts!" Ron yelled. "How _could_ you?"

Harry slowly got out of bed. He considered changing, but decided Ron needed to talk right now, so taking the time to find his weekend clothes would probably not be appreciated. "Something happened." He guessed.

"I tried out." Ron corrected. "And you weren't there!"

"Oh." Harry paused. "But I'm Seeker, not captain. Why does my not being there-"

"Support, Harry. We've been supporting you for weeks now. You could have returned the favor." Ron huffed. Then his expression got complicated; it went from annoyed and disappointed to slightly wary and anxious, but Harry couldn't guess why. "Sorry."

"...you probably did fine." Harry ventured. "Do you want to go flying after breakfast?"

"Harry, we have Care of Magical Creatures after breakfast." Ron frowned.  
"Isn't it the weekend?" Harry frowned, trying to make sense of this new information.

"No," Ron looked at him oddly, "But I suppose that's why we couldn't find you all weekend... were you in the classrooms?" Ron's expression looked both pained and concerned. Perhaps even a little guilty- had he enjoyed the alone time as much as Harry had, then?

"So. It's Monday. Hmmm." Harry puzzled through this revelation.

"Uuuh, let's go to breakfast." Ron suggested.

The whole affair began rather quietly at the Gryffindor table. Ron and Angelina, along with a few unfamiliar faces talked Quidditch, and Hermione had her nose in a book.

"Harry!" Someone called out. A female someone that sounded a bit exasperated, which wasn't exactly a new thing. He focused on the words. "...for five minutes now. Why weren't you at tryouts?" Angelina demanded.

Ron nudged him, leaning in quietly and saying, "She's been channeling Wood all morning. Wish you'd been there to see tryouts."

"I thought it was a school day... and I may have been in detention, if it was just before dinner..." Harry shrugged.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she studied Harry. "Detention? Did you say school day, Harry?"

Just as Angelina fumed, "I can't believe it! You used to always have everything together for a game!"

"Are you sure you can handle Quidditch?" Hermione asked softly, her hands fluttering at her side.

Ron bristled at this, and proceeded to glare at the lot of them. "Harry lives for flying. He doesn't _want_ off the team, he just..." He paused awkwardly, "...er. Umbridge. You know."

Harry let his eyes flicker from one face to the next, suddenly wondering what it was he could say to convince his friends (and captain) of anything. Harry drank his pumpkin juice. "I do like flying...and finding the snitch is a game all in itself..."

Angelina rounded on him. "We've all seen you fly, and we know you like flying. What I'm asking, Harry Potter, is if you have the commitment required to make a brilliant team. Or are you too absorbed in other things?" Her expression was more serious than Harry had ever seen it, but he kept thinking that her eyebrows looked a little like they were wandering up and down with her emotional speech. "We don't need you if you can't concentrate, even if you're the best bloody player at the school."

Ron paled at that. He looked at Harry helplessly, and then back to Angelina. He turned to Hermione next, but still seemed at a loss. "Harry?" He settled on, finally.

"I'm concentrating on Voldemort, and Riddle mostly," Harry admitted. He took a bite of his breakfast. "I think that's best, really... but if I were up in the sky, and a snitch were flying, and I were seeking, I think I'd focus on the snitch. It's just more fun that way."

Ron buried his face in his hands. "Harry, that's not very comforting."

.

.

.

Care of Magical Creatures met on the grounds before the Forbidden Forest as always, but Hagrid's large form was nowhere in sight.

"Let's begin, shall we?" A woman said. Harry vaguely remembered her name was Grubby-Planks or something similar. "Today's lesson shall begin with a bit of revising. Who can tell me what a Kelpie is?"

"A shape shifter who tempts people into the water to drown and eat them," Seamus answered with a shiver.

_"'His hour had come. -an' sae ye see, the prophecy o' the kelpie availed naething,'"_ Harry muttered under his breath, recalling a story about a Kelpie.

Hermione looked at him sharply, but didn't say anything. Instead, she looked back at the teacher and added swiftly, "The Loch Ness Monster is said to be a very large Kelpie." She went on at length.

"Yes, very good, Finnigan, Granger. 10 points to Gryffindor! Today, we will observe the Kellpie which has made its way to our own lake." She looked up and smiled at the children. "Very good opportunity. Between myself, the Merpeople and the Giant Squid, we should encounter no problems. Excellent opportunity."

There was some muttering at the back of the group, and from the Slytherin side, Harry thought he spied a platinum-blond head.

"Professor." Malfoy began with a funny expression, "are you sure this is safe? Kelpies can drag a man in if they don't like him."

"Perfectly safe, Mr. Malfoy. This class is meant to teach you about the care of Magical Creatures, and teach you I shall! Many houses which can manage strong a Placement Charm keep relatively tame Kelpies, so I think it's best for all of you to remember what you learn here. If we can catch it, we will practice feeding and grooming it. Those who get along with it may even try riding it for short distances."

"If it's a malevolent Kelpie, having its bridle isn't much help." Ron shrugged. "But if we're only watching."

"Those of you who have unfortunate experiences with... temperamental... creatures will be permitted to borrow these Omnioculars." The professor amended, hovering a box of the devices. There was a brief rush for the box, students' hands grasping at the pairs. The box was emptied even as she explained how to use them. "Be sure to record what you see. If the Kelpie leaves without being captured, we will use the Omnioculars in the other classes," she instructed.

Harry grinned and asked Ron, "Do you want a pair?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Aren't any left, now are there?"

Harry pulled out his wand and looked up in the direction of the Gryffindor tower. He imagined the window open (which it often was, as he thought it a useful opportunity), and said in a clear voice the opening charm (in case the window wasn't in fact open, and then twice more to open their trunks), followed then with, "_Accio Omnioculars_, Harry's and Ron's." He waited absently for them to zoom forward while the rest of the class walked toward the lake. A minute or two later, the two sparkling devices were within his reach, and he jumped up to catch them.

As he ran back to the group, he smiled to himself, and handed the pairs over to Ron and Hermione, who was saying, "Professor Grubbly-Plank has gone to the lake side." She was then distracted by the cool device that Harry poked her with.

"These are mine." Harry said. "Record stuff. I'd have given you yours, but I don't know if you brought them. You always pack your trunk full of books…"

Hermione swatted his hand even as she took the Omnioculars, saying, "Quiet! Professor Grubbly-Plank is talking to the Merpeople." She said excitedly.

"Where'd you get those?" a loud voice interrupted, close enough to Harry's ear that he had to pay attention to it. Upon further observation, he realized it was Malfoy, so Harry turned away with a roll of his eyes. Malfoy was clutching an older pair of Omnioculars, and with white-knuckled force. "Yours look better than these. Trade." He demanded.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "No. They probably use the same spell. And if you've got your own Omnioculars, just Accio them yourself. These are ours."

Harry turned back to watch the Merpeople. _How hard would it be to learn Mermish?_ he wondered.

Malfoy was saying something obnoxious- he could just tell by the tone... Harry felt his irritation rising. "Malfoy, go. Away. I'm trying to listen to Mermish and then watch the Kelpie. I don't want to Observe The Local Malfoy in the Wild."

"_What?_" Malfoy exploded.

Ron laughed. "Didn't you hear? Go away."

Malfoy shook his head, disbelieving. "What's wrong with you, Potter?" he settled on. His brow furrowed, and shook his head in confused disbelief. "They said you were nutters, but-"

Ron threw himself at Malfoy, knocking him to the ground. "You and your horrible Death Eater father are responsible for it, you git! Just go away! Harry's fine. Just keep out of this." Ron was flushed a deep pink, anger making even his ears color.

Harry stared, watching Ron still clutching Malfoy's collar, and then went back to watching the lake. "The Kelpie is standing in plain view. Oh, look, Professor Grubbly-Plank is admiring him. Do you think- oh no, looks like it..."

Hermione zoomed with her Omnioculars, and Ron let up from Malfoy, while the latter attempted to catch his breath. Hermione was the first to say, "Is she going to ride it?"

Harry strode closer, heedless of his friend's hesitation, and of the fact that he had no real expertise with Kelpies. Being the only one without Omnioculars, he felt that one, he needed to get closer, and two, he might be able to help her.

The Professor smiled at the pretty creature (currently taking the shape of a lovely horse), and she started to reach for its main. She was about to touch it in earnest when Harry realized how the eyes glared and the teeth glinted. His heart in his throat, Harry leaped forward—

-just as the beast reared, and Grubbly-Plank went headlong into the water, her ankle having been pulled by a helpful Merperson.

Harry settled back on his feet, deciding that she didn't need rescuing after all.  
The Kelpie snickered.

From the shallows of the lake, Grubbly-Plank laughed as well. "Oh, you nearly got me there, you wily horse." She shook her finger at the creature. "All right, all right, I'm fine. Students, you may count this as an example of a human being tempted by a Kelpie- were I to ride him," the Kelpie interrupted with a whinny. "He may attempt to drown me. However, should I shake off the glamour even from his back, I still have a chance for fresh air. Step lively now, and let's have another go."

Harry looked at the Kelpie, edging closer than the rest of the students would. As a result, he got quite the fine view when the Kelpie did a silly little dance and flashed its teeth-like bone plate again.

From a good ways behind, Draco called, "Potter was about to be taken in by the glamour as well. What an idiot!"

"I was not. I don't think it can direct it's glamour on more than one person at once. Anyone want to test that?" Harry gestured toward the lake and the Kelpie.

Ron was at his side faster than he thought possible for the gawky redhead. "Nope. Nobody wants to test that."

Harry hummed with disappointment.

Malfoy laughed in a 'I can't believe it,' sort of way, but he said, "I knew he was mad."

"Just reckless." Harry corrected him.

Malfoy carefully positioned himself out of Ron's reach (though to be fair, Ron was more concentrated on keeping Harry within tackling distance, not Malfoy), and muttered something about, "What are we supposed to do with him?" in an uncomfortable sort of tone that bordered on glee and horror.

Harry watched as the professor cast the Placement Charm, and a misty white rope of light unfolded before the Kelpie.

The Kelpie rose on its hind legs and took for the center of the lake. In the water, it seemed unable to decide on what its lower half should look like- a large and powerful fish tail, slender horse legs, or chubby feet with a long powerful otter tale. The professor's Placement Charm raced too and fro, seeking to tie a bridle of white mist over the Kelpie.

Harry listened again for the incantation, and glanced at Ron to make sure he was recording with the Omnioculars. This would be just like Buckbeack... _except hopefully without a name change and a criminal charge._

He whistled softly, a tune he thought Seamus sang sometimes, and raised an eyebrow at the Kelpie. Two steps and a skittering jump, and he was knee deep in water, petting its nose.

Professor Grubbly-Plank gave a slightly startled breath, and refocused her concentration on the bridle. She seemed to do something to set it further, and then she offered Harry a warm smile. "Off with you then! Be back soon." She said.

o0o0o0o0o

* * *

Luna Lovegood was singing under her breath, slowly combing through the leaves in a tree. She was securely positioned between the branches, her robes pushed up around her knees. Harry stood below her tree, looking on the ground.

Without looking away from her work, she called down to him, "Hello Harry Potter."

Harry looked up and noticed that there was a leaf in her hair. He said so, and looked again at the trunk of the tree.

"I heard you ran on water today." She said, and did nothing to remove the leaf.

Harry shrugged. "What are you looking for?"

"Silkworms." She held up a small bag. "I've discovered a magical breed of them here in the forest, and I'm thinking of studying them closer..."

"That sounds good." Harry agreed, and picked up a rock. "Do they live on the ground as well?"

"No," she said serenely, "and I think you are rather preoccupied by your own search. What are you looking for?"

"A piece of my mirror. I couldn't find it." Harry paused, and considered the trees anew. "Did you see any trees with silver leaves, golden leaves or diamonds? Or hear the sound of the leaves being snapped off?"

Luna considered this long and hard. Her hands paused in her search for silkworms, and her mouth pressed into a line of concentration. Finally, she said, "No, I haven't. Have you tried summoning it?"

"I did, but it's like there's an anti-summoning charm on it." Harry frowned. "I didn't put it there. The anti-summoning charm, I mean."

Luna nodded and tilted her head in contemplation. "I suppose something could have taken it. I usually suspect the Nargles, but perhaps it's not the case."

Harry looked up again with interest. "Nargles?"

"Mischievous thieves who often live in mistletoe." She supplied. "But I've never known them to steal mirrors... If I see your mirror, I'll return it to you. If you see a silkworm, make sure it eats plenty of mulberry leaves."

"Are there mulberry leaves in the forest?" Harry asked vaguely, wondering what a mulberry leaf looked like.

"Oh, lots. Just by the Thestrals... I'll show you sometime if you like."

Harry stopped, thinking that today really was a day for magical creatures. "Thestrals?"

"The beautiful creatures who pull the carriages from the train." Luna supplied. "Though most people can't see them..." Her voice was soft and lilting, barely carrying over the sound of students passing through the nearby corridor.

Harry hummed with interest, and resolved to look up both Thestrals and Nargles later. In the meanwhile, he walked to the next tree.

"There's Riddle," Luna murmured.

Sure enough, there was another pair of shoes next to Harry and Luna's tree. "What are you doing crouching on the ground, Potter? You're getting filthy."

"Hello Riddle." Harry greeted, straightening to his full height.

"I've been hearing about you and the Kelpie all morning." Riddle said absently, and he looked up slowly to where Luna was examining her leaves.

Harry blinked. Talking to his arch nemesis about school lessons was something new. Unless you counted False-Moody-Crouch and Quirrel, (which he didn't.) "And?"

"You were going to tell me a fairy tale. It's my free period, so..." he trailed off, seeming to consider Luna in her tree, and Harry on the ground. "What are you two doing?"

Luna called quietly, "Hello Tom Riddle." much as she had to Harry. She looked down at him with wide blue eyes, and her face looked pixie-like in the light. "I'm looking for magical silkworms." Her voice was the same as ever, and she turned her gaze back on the tree. "Harry is..." she trailed off.

"Looking for magic mirrors." Harry supplied. "Mine's gotten lost."

Tom's lips quirked. "Ah. Silkworms and mirrors...if you would... I think we could talk over there." He gestured to a spot on the grounds somewhat farther away from the castle.

"I'll keep an eye out for your mirror, Harry. Be careful of more Nargles," Luna warned.

"All right," Harry agreed.

The clearing was bright in the afternoon light, and Harry couldn't help but notice how the sun played on Tom's hair. It was getting very difficult to see him as "the future dark lord." They sat down on the grassy hill, both resolutely looking towards the Whomping Willow rather than look at one another.

Riddle spoke first. "You wanted to tell me a fairy tale."

"Did I?"

"When we were in the library, discussing second year, you mentioned something like that…" Tom prompted.

_Ah. Second year,_ Harry thought. "Wouldn't you prefer a real one? The golden ball or Nix Nott Nothing?" Harry puzzled.

"That wasn't really what I meant," Riddle laughed, and for a moment, Harry could almost imagine calling this boy 'Tom.' "But you can tell me whatever story you like."

"Do you mind if I tell it slowly?" Harry asked, plucking a piece of grass to shred between his fingers.

"Take your time," Riddle coaxed.

Harry fiddled with his glasses, thinking of how to begin. "In second year, there was a large, terrible snake woken up by a fierce Princess who had a terrible secret. She was haunted by a book. Not just any book, but a fearsome diary…"

Harry went on for some length about the events that transpired durng his second year, and Tom Riddle listened. Then Harry stopped, and considered the rest of his words carefully. He could always tell things the way they happened (the Princess Awoke, they defeated the Diary, and the Diary had a few words about how great he was, and in his arrogance, he was defeated, and the Monster too).

Or Harry could test Riddle. See if he actually knew the story already.

He watched Riddle carefully, looking for a shine in his eyes or a twitch that might give the boy away. "I went to the Chamber, and I saw her fiery hair. Then, the Diary did something strange. It stopped talking, and it regarded the Monster of a Basilisk carefully. The Diary said, 'Leave now, for you are about your death, Boy. The King of Serpents has no need of you.'"

Tom did not respond to that. He watched Harry just as carefully as Harry watched him, and he presently raised his eyebrows as though to say, 'Get on with it.'

So Harry did. "But the Boy would not go. He crept closer to the Princess, and he said to the snake, 'Free yourself of him. Go wander the walls no longer, and find your refuge in the Lake!'

"The Diary was very angry indeed to hear this, but it could only look coldly at its Monster. 'I am the Heir.' The Diary said, though it wasn't technically true, seeing that he hadn't any body but instead he had a book. 'You will kill the Boy and leave the Princess's body, for I shall have her soul!' The Dreadful Diary demanded."

Riddle frowned, puzzlement showing in his expression. He looked rather uncertain and afraid. His eyes darted to the side, checking for anyone else who might have heard those words.

"But the Boy was a brave one, and he could call the Sword into his hand, _Snicker Snack, one-two, one-two, and the Diary was severed in two._ The Diary's Memory screamed, wavered once, and died while the Monster laughed.

"When he was gone for good, the Serpent said to the Boy, 'I thank you for your service. I am now a Free Monster, and I shall go slither about the Forest!' and it left without touching so much as a hair on their heads." Harry announced proudly. He determinedly ignored the memory of a Basilisk Fang in his shoulder, the Great Snake Corpse rotting in the Chamber, and how scared he was that Ginny might never wake up. He also didn't mention the Phoenix either, without whom they (Professor Doge, Ginny, Ron, and Harry) couldn't have found their way out again.

He finished instead with, "And so they lived happily ever after. Or at least they did until the next year, when the Grim came calling."

Throughout all of this, Tom's interest did not waver. He even straightened a bit when he heard that the Basilisk might still be alive, and Harry imagined he would comb the forest for signs of it.

Tom favored Harry with a slow smile, and he said, "Thank you." Riddle stood. His expression was proud and haughty as before, but Harry thought he might have seen a trace of hope there.

It was an odd thing to think of Voldemort, and he wondered at it. But it was time to look for the mirror again, and after that, time to sleep.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o

Harry Dreamed.

"You have his heart?" Harry pushed his sleeves back, neatly displaying his thin-fingered hands. Harry's thoughts still lingered on the promises of that line of research—the allure of the knowledge, so close and yet so obscure. It would end, doubtless, in a curse among many, but still… The desire to discover burned ever bright, even with more pressing matters at hand.

Harry brought his mind back to the tall, thin trembling man before him. "Put it there on the table. Now, report." Harry walked slowly as though to music only he could hear. His eyes were trained on the man in the corner.

"My Lord," he began hastily, and his words were thick. "We arrived on time, but I'm afraid that the resistance was stronger than we anticipated."

Harry let out a slow breath, and simply looked at the wizard, knowing that his full attention was a terrible thing to bear.

"We could not get it, My Lord, and they may have moved it." He swallowed hard, barely managing to keep the tremor from his voice.

"I told you," Harry said as he slowly made his way closer, "that failure would result in your death." One step more, and he would be close enough to touch.

"We didn't get it, but no one saw us! I swear it- no one was killed, and none of the new recruits died-"

"And yet there are still rumors of mysterious disappearances and deaths, if you know where to look. Tell me, why is that? Hm?" Harry raised one hand, straightening the collar of the other's robes. "It's because you have had losses before. And precious resources, our recruits, number among those corpses..." Harry couldn't keep the disgust from his voice. His hand moved to touch the throat of the messenger, and his fingers began to close.

The light in the room flickered.

Harry froze, listening to another noise. It came from the side, just out of his sight. There was a slight flutter, as though something alighted there. Silence resumed, and then there was the odd sensation that Harry was all too familiar with- hunger. So deep that it reached out and caressed him. It came on thin arms, barely more than bones, and it came with dazed eyes. He stretched out his senses, and there it was, reaching for him.

Harry allowed his hand to relax, turned his head, and deciphered the messages the magic would reveal. Avarice, fear. These things lurked around wet lips. Another man might have cowered, and others would have rallied courageously against the feeling of despair. But not him. Harry felt his own lips stretching into a smile, felt his heart thunder in his chest, and he relished the feeling.

"Yes," he breathed. "I have been waiting."

A soft, dry sound met that statement, something like a laugh. There was someone else just behind the Dementor, a small, sallow-skinned thing with a curtain of dirty hair. It spoke softly; "You have called, Lord?"

Harry reigned in his emotions even as he longed to go closer, to explore the magic the Dementor brought with it. He tilted his head to regard the thing. "Long have I waited to speak with you."

The thing nodded shakily. "We are glad. We come," here he paused to give importance to the word, and Harry resented his dramatics, "to negotiate. There is nothing we could not do for you, Dark Lord. I have heard what you offer, and wish to discuss it further."

"So we understand one another." Harry smiled thinly, "Come. Let us speak."

The Dementor beside the thing with dirty hair moved without sound. It reached for its cowl—

-and Harry woke up, scar throbbing and eyes stinging.

o0o0o0o0o

* * *

**A/N: **The fairy tale inspired retelling of Year Two (and a bit of the Kelpie scene) is abridged here. If you want to read the whole thing, see my AO3 version of this story, chapter 7.

Thanks for reading!


	8. Bathrooms & Dumbledore's Office

**A/N:** thank you for the favorites, follows, and reviews! Those conversations make me grin. Very happy to have you here. :) Enjoy the cast of characters and Some Questions Answered.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o

**Chapter 8:** Bathrooms and Dumbledore's Office

Harry sat up, just noticing the uncomfortable position he found himself in. He sat up in his bed in the tower, aware only that it was dark around him, and that his roommates slept.

_That was a dream… wasn't it? Voldemort... I need to find Dumbledore._ Harry thought numbly.

He stumbled out of bed and raced down the stairs, not caring if he woke his friends. The portrait door gave a start as he burst into the corridors, but Harry didn't care.

What would happen with the Dementors and that stringy looking man? He wasn't having it for tea (probably. Too evil for that.), so what was he looking for?

The corridors all seemed jumbled in his head, but his feet knew just where to take him. He skidded to a stop in front of the gargoyle, panting as he tried to get the words in his head. He tapped it on the nose vaguely. "Please," he said, "Dumbledore."

"Password." The thing grumbled.

"His office is open! He said his office is open for me- it's important that I speak to him." Harry's voice was not as cottony from sleep as he feared.

He felt the panic curl around him, stifling and hot. Too much to trouble with, so he just kept talking, trying to make it all make sense. "Please." He said again (the magic words), "Let me in."

The gargoyle appeared to have pity on him. It said gruffly, "...he's not actually in right now."

"Potter!" Strong hands grasped his shoulders, whirling him around. "What are you doing, trying to enter the headmaster's office at this late hour?"

Harry stared into the face of the potions master. "I have information...I saw...I need to talk to Dumbledore." Harry tried to explain.

Snape's lip curled. "If you have pertinent information, tell me." He crossed his arms.

"I can't—not right in the hallway. Besides, you hate me," he chewed his lip.

"I do not see how this is relevant." Snape sneered. "Tell me, Potter. I shall determine whether or not the Headmaster need be called immediately."

Harry wavered. Could Snape call Dumbledore back? Or was he saying that simply to make him talk?

Snape loomed over Harry. His height was considerable, and the way he bunched his shoulders, drew back one arm and leaned in, Harry thought of the Dementors again. They'd been plaguing him all summer, and he remembered then what Riddle had said.

_It's Dumbledore's spell._ Could it be? Would Snape know? Harry bit his cheeks (accidentally. he kept opening and closing his mouth as he decided what to say). "What do you want to know for?"

Snape's bony fingers reached for him then, and Harry, eyes widening, shrank back several paces. His heart beat furiously in his chest, and his breath came like hot, muggy fog stuck in his throat. He felt dizzy, and barely kept himself from saying, "Stupefy!" at the teacher.

_Ron ought to be thanked for that._ He reminded Harry just that morning that teachers were not to be cast at unless they cast a spell first. _Which Snape hadn't done, and..._ Harry stopped thinking suddenly aware that Snape was talking again.

"You were not," Snape concluded, "yourself in class earlier today."

"I'm always myself. How couldn't I be? Unless you think I'm possessed... which I'm not," he added quickly. "I don't like potions." Harry muttered in his defense. "Sir." Then he looked away again.

Snape raised an eyebrow at this- it might have been the most Harry had said to him all year.

"You will not bother the Headmaster with such useless drivel, Potter. Return to your dormitory at once." He folded his arms over his chest again, tapping his fingers impatiently. _"Don't_ linger."

Harry glared back at the potions master, all thoughts of confiding in him gone. Obviously Snape didn't listen well, so he would miss _all_ the finer points of the dream, and probably the significance too. He turned around stiffly, and left without giving farewell, completely unaware that Snape hadn't bothered to assign a detention.

"Twenty points for being out of bed past curfew, and twenty points for disturbing the headmaster, Potter." Snape called behind him, his voice stern and soft as the hiss of a cauldron.

Harry pretended not to have heard.

"Of course he doesn't want you to talk to the headmaster. But then, he probably already knows whatever it is you have to tell... He is a spy, you know." The voice was upbeat and amused- almost cheerful.

"I've begun to notice a pattern with you..." Harry told the empty corridor. "You always, always pop up when I don't expect it and start talking to me in the hallway."

Tom laughed at that, and the noise was soft as it was cruel. "Where else do you expect us to talk, Potter? We don't share any classes, and we're in different houses." He strode up next to Harry, his dark eyes searching.

"Why don't you get in trouble for staying out past curfew?" Harry frowned, his irritation rising. "I just lost 40 points, and no one even seems to _see_ you."

"I'm much sneakier than you." Tom sounded overly pleased with himself. "Why were you trying to speak with Dumbledore, anyway?"

"You don't do small-talk." Harry informed Tom. "If you ask, I have to assume you're digging for information. Go away and let me _not_ get caught by anyone else."

Tom must have been offended by that, because he didn't say anything for the next several paces. Then he asked, "Why don't you trust me?"

Harry racked his mind for that answer. It was slippery, rather like an insect, and hard to put into words. "You look like the Diary Ghost, but...different. You sound like him too. You have the same name." He paused to think some more. "You're not real. You're like a fairy tale thing- something strange and dangerous that wants to...do something horrible. Like Voldemort did. Does."

Tom nodded slowly, his pale face inexpressive in the lamplight. His answer was like a breath on the wind- nearly indistinguishable from silence. "Tell me what you saw."

Harry started at that. "How do you know I _saw_ anything?"

The other boy's smile was twisted on one end, a sort of half smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You said as much. 'I saw... I need to talk with Dumbledore,' you said."

"If Snape knows because he's a spy, then you know too. Why even bother asking me?" Harry harrumphed.

Tom shook his head as though to clear it. "That's just it. I have no outside contacts. I'm _not_ a spy, so if I'm to know anything, I have to ask you."

"Ask Snape." Harry glowered. "He's on your side."

"He isn't. He mistrusts me. The other Slytherins, too... they all are under the impression that I'm... unwanted among certain circles. That makes them talk," Tom sighed. But even that simple act seemed calculated. Like the other wanted to present his story in a sympathetic light...just one more move in a game.

Harry rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean you aren't. That doesn't mean anything."

They swung around another corner, and Harry saw the familiar portrait of the Fat Lady. He pointedly removed himself from Tom's reach, and rapped gently on the wall next to her.

Meanwhile, Tom seethed. His stance was almost murderous, except that his expression was still playing at being innocent.

"Are you awake?" he asked the portrait softly.

"You again!" She muttered. "Gave me quite the surprise, you know." She yawned and then noticed Tom. "What's that poor boy doing here? Did his classmates lock him out of the common room in the dungeons?"

_Poor boy..._ the word seemed to reverberate inside his head. If it was Dumbledore, why would he set it to have the castle portraits think _that?_

Harry's eyes slid back toward Tom. "You need to go now. I can't say the password with you here."

"Well, I'll send word along for someone to come get you. We can't have you sleeping in the halls, oh no." She shook her head. "Off with you now, or I can't let Harry in either."

So the last Harry saw of him before he headed inside was Tom's furious eyes.

.

.

.

The next day, they had a free period early in the morning. The common room had more than a few lingering students, so Harry coaxed his friends to join him in Myrtle's bathroom, where he could tell them about his dream in privacy.

"Oooo, if it isn't Harry Potter and his friends," the girlish voice of Moaning Myrtle sounded behind them. "Come to see me?" She asked coyly.

Harry looked at Myrtle distractedly. "Hi, but not right now. We've got just a little time before someone comes by, and we _have_ to talk about this, so, um, flirt later, ok?"

Myrtle gave a girlish shriek of annoyance. "Flirt?!" She demanded. "Who said I was flirting?!" She splashed around noisily. "I'm dead, and I died tragically, and no one can love me." She wailed, and her usual tears started flowing.

Harry ran his hands through his hair, remembering the odd sensation of feeling another person's mind during the dream. "I had a vision... Voldemort was asking about a heart, and there was a Death Eater reporting about activities, and a Dementor and somebody came in." Harry blurted. "I tried to tell Dumbledore last night, but his gargoyle said he wasn't in, and then Snape came and told me off. I would tell Sirius, but he's not here and his mirror is missing and… do you think we could write a letter?"

Ron groaned. "Harry…can that bloody gargoyle even speak? And what happened to your mirror? That was our only safe hope of communication with the outside—"

"Ronald." Hermione said in a warning tone. "Never mind that. Harry. You said your mirror is gone?" She pursed her lips. "Never mind. Sorry, never mind. Was it like. . .last year. You talked to Dumbledore after having a dream right before the third task." She paused again, as though wondering if Harry would jump up and run away by mentioning the Tournament.

Harry remembered _that_ dream...the only one that Professor Trelawney might have considered truly Seeing into the future. Harry had dreamed, and told the Headmaster about the dream. He'd seen the house covered in ivy, where Wormtail promised that Harry would soon be at Voldemort's mercy. Something that had, in fact, come true not days later.

Harry felt almost irrationally angry at her caution—that she would think him so weak as that? Would he run away just because events leading up to that terrible night was mentioned? A small part of Harry reminded himself that he had, in fact, run away at the mention of the dark ritual, and he often avoided talking about it. However, he wasn't running now. Irritation and anger boiled in his stomach, making his mind come back into a piece of what it might have been before.

"Dumbledore told me that we have a connection. He said it was a sort of remnant from my scar. It means he takes it seriously!"

Ron examined how Harry was standing, and Harry assumed Ron was looking for some clue that Harry was broken. Again. For the first time at Hogwarts, Ron felt Harry relied on him, and for whatever, reason, Ron took that very seriously. He wondered if Ginny ever felt like this- that Ron (and Hermione) were ignoring Harry's own ability to look after himself.

"Why can't you trust me?" Harry hissed. "I know I need to talk to Dumbledore about this, and he's still not back even this morning. This is important. I saw- I saw Voldemort recruiting. Or planning. I don't know what exactly, but he needs to be told." Conviction made Harry's voice sound strong, if rash. In a spur of inspiration, he suggested, "We should write a letter to your parents, Ron. They're in the Order."

Ron whirled at that. His expression was wide with surprise, and his words seemed stuck in his throat. He shook his head, finally muttering, "Why?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Yes, well, we need to tell _someone._"

"We can't put that kind of information into a letter." Ron blurted. "We just can't."

"We can tell them to contact Dumbledore!" Harry insisted. "We don't need to spell anything out. I could write it subtly, and don't you think they need to know? Voldemort is out in the world."

"Why don't we write a letter to Professor Dumbledore, Harry? Just asking him to contact you when he returns, or talk to Professor McGonnigal."

"That would be like telling the whole world that he isn't here, Hermione," Harry snapped. "We need some other way to contact him... the Order must know what he's doing... maybe he's even at Headquarters now..."

"You can't send letters like that. It'll put everyone in danger if you try and write anything. Can you imagine my mom or dad putting up with a Dementor attack? With a _Death Eater_ attack?" Ron was shaking his head.

"They chose to be in the Order!" Harry shot back.

"We can write the letter to Professor McGonagall. Or just tell Professor McGonagall, Harry... Maybe Dumbledore will be back for breakfast." Hermione interjected.

"And what is it you wanted to tell him so badly?" a voice called from the door.

Harry spun to see Tom Riddle standing there. "You eavesdropped." He accused. Then he turned to where Myrtle was hiding. "You let him in. Really, Myrtle, you ought to recognize and wail when your murderer is loitering on your grave." He admonished, some of that previous concentration snapping as he focused on an unexpected turn.

"He isn't!" Myrtle's voice was partially muffled by the toilet door. "He's not a pair of yellow eyes, now is he?" She gave a squealing moan. "He didn't murder me! I would know!" She fumed, her voice dropping an octave. Water started spewing from the faucets and toilets.

"She would know, you realize." Tom said smoothly. "Now what is it you went all the way to this...quaint bathroom to discuss? Something Snape wasn't interested in, right, Potter?"

"You already heard." Harry retorted. "Why are you bothering asking if you heard?"

"But you didn't tell Snape, now did you. He didn't want to listen... he wouldn't want to discuss Death Eater activities at school." Tom's voice was low and matter of fact. Everything he said sounded so reasonable.

And yet he still managed to irritate Harry, and make Hermione and Ron suspicious. "Like we'd tell anything to an eavesdropping rat," Ron retorted. "Why should we tell you? Any old Slytherin could be a You-Know-Who supporter."

"I could help. Snape isn't going to share information with you. I could let you know what the Slytherins are doing, and what they're planning." Tom said quietly.

"We couldn't ask you to do that," Hermione said slowly. "Someone would notice..."

"What does it matter if they notice?" The Slytherin shrugged. "It's not as though their opinions matter."

Hermione scoffed. "I'm sorry, but I think you misunderstand. We can't afford to trust you." Her tone was challenging. "Ginny doesn't trust you. Harry doesn't trust you."

Tom froze where he stood. "I'm _trying_ to help you." He said slowly.

"You're trying to trick us." Harry said.

"Harry, you know I'm _not him._" He said, showing his palms in a soothing gesture. "I couldn't be with the Dark Lord or _be_ the Dark Lord if you just saw him elsewhere in a vision!"

"You're on a secret mission to infiltrate the school." Harry decided, his mind spinning to make the connections. "You're...um...I don't know what you are, but you're not going to be invited to secret meetings with Dementors if you've _already got a mission._"

Tom stared at him incredulously. "Secret mission?" He repeated, and gave a small laugh.

"Shut up! Both of you, shut up. You're too loud." Hermione shifted uncomfortably, but there was a new look about her. She almost seemed suspicious, or at the very least confused. "Let's go, Harry. We can't stay here so long... you can tell us about Riddle and your dream in the common room. This was a bad idea..."

Harry glared at Tom and said, "You want me to trust you? How could I?" Then he walked forward, pushed past the young Dark Lord, and walked on.

* * *

o0o0o0o

(Tom)

A sense of frustration made me reckless. I had spoken to Potter twice in one evening, and learned nothing.

I peered into the murky surface of the headmaster's pensive and scowled. _What is he but a bitter old man?_ I looked away from the artifact and glanced down at the two-way mirror. It caught the sunlight and reflected the mid-afternoon sun well. I cared not for the other mirror it was linked to (doubtless one of Potter's friends.) It was more its potential…as a link.

What was more, I had cast spell after spell, and still Harry's mirror would not change, would not show me what lied locked away in the pensive. It remained obtusely reflective with no clear change in the magic. I remained unable to manipulate the thing and thus dip into one of Dumbledore's pensive memories.

Perhaps an hour before, I had waited hours and hours under a disillusionment spell on the twisting staircase, waiting for someone to admit me into his office. I was quite surprised that it turned out to be Dumbledore himself who had let me in. The old fool had been leaving for some reason (I tried to tell myself it might not be to recover some memory of mine. It could be he was legitimately working), and then had _gone back_ to retrieve his hat. I was delighted, and assured by the fact that I could still leave unnoticed by those very same stairs on my own, there being no password or permission for the stairs to go down.

The pensive rested before me, tempting. I peered into the swirling surface, unable to get past the securities Dumbledore has cast around it. _He guards his thoughts well…_ The need to see them burned in me, bright and all consuming. I knew Dumbledore was collecting memories about me. About Lord Voldemort.

I smothered a slow sigh of exasperation as something sounded in my ear—a low tone from the walls. Perhaps a warning that one of the portraits would wake. Perhaps warning that the headmaster would return. I had taken too long, and still recovered nothing. I tapped my fingers on the rim on the pensive, hoping I was wrong. The spell of darkness that I'd cast around the portraits wouldn't hold forever. I wondered if I should cast the counter as I left, or if I should leave it for Dumbledore to discover.

But then Dumbledore's voice sounded below in the hallway, echoing through some enchantment perhaps meant to keep the Headmaster informed of what was said before his office. "Madam Pomfrey, what a pleasure... how rare to see you here. Dare I ask what brings you to my office?"

I let out a breath, relieved to find him so distracted. I could still retreat without him catching me on the stairs, if only he went away...There was only one entrance, after all.

"Ah yes, Mr. Potter. Is he in the Hospital Wing?"

"No, Headmaster. But I had hoped you could have him come by…there was the nasty business of last year with the tournament. I believe he needs to be looked over…the students talk…"

"As they will. I'm sure Harry is handling things as well as can be expected. He is surrounded by his friends, and seems to be doing no worse in his classes."

"Headmaster, that is not what I've heard!"

Dumbledore seemed saddened by her words, and his tone lost a significant amount of geniality as he replied, "Ah. Well. Perhaps you will pass on what you have heard, Madam? Let us walk under the sky, by the lake-shore. It is most remarkable this time of year…"

I felt a thrill of triumph. The fool would leave. With every step away from the door, he furthered my fears of discovery. I would keep my secrets another day. I walked slowly and carefully down the stair, and finally stopped to listen at the door.

There was no sound. The Headmaster and Pomfrey had indeed gone on their scenic walk.

I hesitated back to the pensive, thinking. I was no closer to unlocking the secrets of his pensive. Furthermore, Harry would suspect me of the mirror's theft soon… I pondered how to get it back to him without rousing suspicion.

A surge of frustration and anger surged up in me. I wanted to see whatever memory Dumbledore has managed to collect. They were _my_ memories, in part. I yearned to have even one, in hopes that it would be one that I had not been granted by the Dark Lord.

"Accio Horcrux books!"

_Secrets of the Darkest Art_ came into my hands without a complaint, and the weight of it relieved me at once. _Magick Most Evile_ too landed silently. Here, I would find answers. How a Horcrux was made (how it might be reversed), and maybe: how it might be given life again.

I clutched it to my chest, hating the Dark Lord for not trusting me. I who had _so very much_ to gain by understanding Horcruxes. Almost as much as I hated the Dark Lord for his secrets, I hated Dumbledore for his foolish compassion. Dumbledore who had nearly discovered me in his office. This did not endear him to me, either.

I pressed the door open, my arms laden with books of Dark Art, and found myself staring into the brown eyes of Ginevra Weasley.

"What are you doing." She demanded rather than asked, coming in on me with steps Harry would have called 'fierce.'

"I just came from the Headmaster's office. He agreed to loan me some books," I said evenly.

"I don't believe you. He just went off with Madam Pomfrey. He didn't act like he had any students in his office. But don't think you pulled the wool over his eyes. He knew you were up there," the witch told me, raising her chin to glare at me in anger. "He _chose_ to let you into his office. It's just something he would do."

I privately agreed with her assessment, my cheeks flaming. "And I suppose you have business with the Headmaster?" I asked instead.

"I have business with you. Show me those books," she said bitingly.

"No. If he knew I was there, he knew I could get the books. He as good as gave them to me."

She bristled at that, and I could see why Harry held her in such high regard. "You're stealing." She accused.

I raised an eyebrow. "Library books are meant to be borrowed."

"Give them to me, or I'll summon Umbridge. She won't like you with those non-Ministry-approved books, I bet." She held out a hand. As though I would hand them over at a little threat of the Ministry toad.

Then I noticed her fingers. The hand curled at her side trembled, and if I looked at her in the dying afternoon light, I could see where the sun caught the beads of sweat glistening on her neck. She was afraid.

I smiled. "Get out of my way before I hex you."

"Expelliarmus!" she yelled, followed by a Knock-Back Hex and Bat-Bogey Hex in quick succession.

I kept the books in my arms for an instant, and then lost them as I tumbled to the floor. I felt heat rush to my cheeks. The sound of her footsteps drove me to my feet, and I gave chase. "Those books are mine!" I screamed furiously.

My feet slammed against the stone floor of the castle, my magic surging energy and speed into every step. I felt my mouth split into a wide grin at the sound of her voice, high with girlish terror, calling for help. I knew this feeling, and cherished it.

I imagined casting a spell on her, a curse that I had read about in my real fourth year. The curse would strip her flesh from her where it struck, leaving glistening white bone under a river of blood. I imagined her writhing in pain as her life's blood left her.

I opened my mouth and began the incantation—

And the words stuck in my throat. _life's blood... blood of the enemy...I felt a sickening sensation of something entering between my ribs, and again in my throat. It felt cold and alien, then hot, pulsing- and blood flew freely from every open wound._

_My heart sped to replace what I lost, my magic whirled and pooled within me- fighting wounds the world would call 'mortal.' _I remembered.

Presently, I heard Ginny casting another spell in my direction, determination lighting fire in her eyes as she aimed at my heart.

I pushed the hated memories away; I cast them to the part of my mind which even I would not access without Legilimency. I pulled up strong shields between that time and now- and whispered three words.

"It ends now." And I summoned the books back to me.

o0o0o0o0o

* * *

…tbc…

Thoughts? Hang in there... part of the Mystery (Tom) is discussed in depth in chapter 10 or 11 (and I'll do another recap at the end of that chapter). A lot of you have the right idea about Tom. ;)


	9. Riddle's Secret

**Chapter 9:** Riddle's Secret

It was still warm, being only the second weekend of September, but Harry felt the air should be chillier or more oppressive at least. He leaned in to hear Ginny better, and considered her words with care.

"Riddle was in Professor Dumbledore's office?" Harry asked slowly. He wondered how he had managed to miss Dumbledore so completely. Even after leaving him a note asking to see the headmaster, Harry still hadn't been able to tell him about his dream.

"Riddle stole books from the headmaster," Ginny said, her voice hot with conviction. "I tried to take them from him, but he started chasing after me. It was like there was a devil on my trail. I thought I'd outrun him if I could jinx him, but he dodged, and then." She took a breath. "And then he summoned the books back."

Harry stared unblinking for a moment as that last statement cemented with something else. _Riddle stole my mirror._ he decided, wondering when it had happened. Then he said, "But why books?"

Ginny shook her head, furious with herself. "I don't know! He had one called "Magik Most Evile," so what he wanted it for is obvious enough. If only my jinx hadn't missed."

"Magic most evil." Harry repeated quietly. "What about the others?"

"Secrets of something-or-other." Ginny shrugged.

Harry nodded, thinking of the Basilisk. When he looked at Ginny again, he noticed she was watching him with apprehension. Harry continued, "It's good you didn't land him in the Hospital Wing anyway; if you had, that'd only make the Slytherins feel sorry for him and hate you. Or at least, you shouldn't have done it so they knew whose fault it was."

Ginny scoffed. "I didn't, so it's fine."

"I mean, only you were skipping classes. Everyone else has solid alibis." He continued.

"I can't believe this!" Quidditch captain Angelina Johnson stormed over from a few feet away. She tore her gaze from whoever she was talking to to stare directly at Harry. "Harry, I need you. Come here, it's important! We're going to talk to Professor McGonagall."

Harry looked at Ginny. "We'll talk again later."

Ginny chewed her lip, looking between Angelina and Harry.

"What are we talking to McGonagall about?" He asked curiously.

The older girl frowned at him. "That Umbridge. She's gone and _banned_ anyone who misses tryouts from Quidditch!"

Before the whole table of Gryffindor, Angelina dragged Harry away. Minutes later, they stood before their head of house's office, and pushed the door open.

Harry took a deep breath, determined to go in and ask his head of house for advice about Quidditch. Or possibly discuss Riddle. Both, maybe.

However, Angelina spoke first. "Professor, have you seen the new decree? She's banned our seeker! Professor, we barely even got permission to reform the team, and now she's gone and banned our seeker. Can you or Dumbledore please," she paused, perhaps noticing how McGonagall was frowning at her loud voice. "Please, can we get Harry back on the team?"

"Angelina, there really is nothing to be done. If the Superintendent has a new decree stating that no player may be reinstated after missing the initial tryouts, I'm afraid there is little I can do." Professor McGonagall said sternly.

Harry looked from McGonagall to Angelina with a frown.

"Professor," Harry said lightly, but Angelina was talking faster than he was. "I want to play." Harry said firmly. "I love Quidditch. Being part of the Quidditch Team is important to me- I wouldn't have half as good reflexes if it weren't for dodging Bludgers all the time." He added with a faint smile. He shifted slightly when both McGonagall and Angelina turned to look at him. "Er. Maybe she could have me for detention again, and I could play on a probation status." He suggested quickly, getting the words out hard and fast.

"Mr. Potter." McGonagall said in that strict voice of hers. "I will be speaking to Dumbledore about our position on the subject, but he has already had words with Dolores Umbridge. She has been granted permission to strip students of privileges. You do understand that this means she has the right, under the law, to determine whether or not you can play?"

Harry shook his head. "But I didn't do anything."

McGonagall glanced at the parchment on her desk. "According to Umbridge, you showed 'blatant disregard for your team and for school established tradition.' Also, that you 'showed little inclination of following rules or regulations within school walls,' which means, essentially, that letting Harry James Potter play Quidditch 'is a threat to the boy himself and all others on his team.'" She looked at him doubtfully. "I know it's a lot to take," she paused, "but you'll simply have to prove her wrong before the ban can be lifted."

Angelina shouted with outrage. "He was in detention!" she insisted.

"Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team captaincy! I will be seeing _you_ in class, Mr. Potter." Professor McGonagall fixed the two of them with a stern look. "This is only the beginning of the Superintendent's decrees. Both of you, be careful."

Angelina frowned something awful, but Harry set his jaw, and took after the professor. "Professor McGonagall- the Superintendent... Quidditch. Wait, what decree?" Harry frowned, and resisted the urge to chew his lip. His memory, or his thoughts threatened to cloud over.

"Come on Harry." Angelina said firmly.

"No, I need to speak with Professor McGonagall." Harry insisted.

Angelina cast him a disapprovingly worried glance. But in the end, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and backed off.

"The decrees, Mr. Potter are posted publicly. Do try and keep up with them. You risk expulsion if she catches you breaking any of her have been 25 decrees in her short tenure thus far. The most memorable being number 23. It created the post of High Inquisitor, which she was nominated for." McGonagall gave him a severe look. "You didn't realize?"

Harry shook his head, and the thoughts that had seemed so orderly before started jumbling again. "She's the Superintendent. What does her being High Inquisitor change?"

McGonagall rubbed her temples. "She is representing the Board and the Ministry. Be careful what you say and do around her."

"She heard about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She knows you said this. She blames you for 'starting rumors,' though you have thus far not done so in her presence. Furthermore, she cannot forgive you for the results of the hearing this summer." McGonagall said slowly.

"Voldemort is back. You know it. I know it. Everyone saw-" McGonagall tensed and averted her eyes when he said Voldemort's name, but she managed to hold up a hand and give him another look.

"Mr. Potter. Until the Ministry has resolved its stance on that issue, it's best that you don't provoke her. Professor Snape already warned you. She will not listen, no matter how many times you say the truth!" She snapped.

"But Professor- even Professor Dumbledore-"

"This isn't about truth or lies- use your common sense!"

"Gray Churl of the Townland of Mischance insisted on satisfaction... whoever would first say he was sorry for his bargain, would be skinned. If it was the master, he would pay double wages; if the servant was sorry for making the bargain, he should get no wages at all. In the end, who do you think got the better of the fairy tale bargain?"

That has no bearing on the matter." McGonagall insisted impatiently. "Muggle Fairy Tales are to teach morals, not common sense. Whether or not the fictional character said hasty words or not," then she paused. "Did the man refrain from saying something he ought not have?"

Harry blinked. "Um. He didn't say he was sorry." Harry specified. "The other man did."

McGonagall sighed. "Have a biscuit, Harry. Your reasoning isn't making sense at all."

Harry blinked. "Uh, no thank you."

"Nonsense! Have a biscuit," McGonagall insisted.

Harry took a biscuit.

"Ah, Minerva! I hear your house is looking for a new Seeker?" Harry tensed at the overly boisterous Lockhart. "Let me know when he or she is chosen—I was offered a spot on the national team, you know, but I proffered to dedicate my career to the eradication of the Dark Forces. But! I would be more than happy to impart some of my many talents to your newest team member. Minerva? Hello? Your door seems to be stuck—I can't quite open it… Minerva?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake." The door rattled. Professor McGonagall's lips thinned. "Professor Lockart—I'm with a student." McGonagall raised her voice to carry. To Harry, she muttered "Say nothing until he goes away."

Harry thought that was rather odd advice, and said so.

McGonagall gave him an exasperated look. "Professor Lockhart," she continued, "the team has a more than sufficient Captain, and so I'm afraid any hopefuls will have to come to you directly. I have nothing else to say on the matter, so please allow me to return to the matter at hand." She had her wand pointed at the door, and her voice went through the solid wood as though it weren't there.

McGonagall had just removed her wand and stepped away as the door rattled and clinked. "Ooomph!" Lockhart said. He fell into the room, his lilac robes all aflutter. Lockhart took a moment to consider the room while McGonnagal said something that neither of them was listening to. His gaze focused on Harry, and an 'ah-hah' expression came over him. "Harry my boy!" he exclaimed.

Harry nibbled his biscuit.

"I should have known it was you. Trying to overrule Umbridge's veto on your position?" He flashed his shining teeth in some kind of grin. "Now, now, I think you'd be better trying to win Umbridge over, not McGonagall. Pitting yourself against her?" He laughed. "Oh no, not going to work."

Like the night of the detention, Lockhart seemed to be of two minds. There were the words he spoke, and the words he whispered. Harry remembered him, standing behind the quill, seemingly so comfortable in lair of the Superintendent-bandersnatch. There and not there.

Harry frowned, trying to remember what Lockhart had said. Had he actually cast magic at the Superintendent? But that was surely against the school rules- even more blatantly against the rules than missing tryouts, surely. Was that part of the pain-induced illusion?

"I'm sorry you were put off the team so forcibly, but..." Lockhart was saying.

"Professor Lockhart." McGonagall said loudly enough that they both faced her.

"I want to talk to Professor McGonagall in private." Harry muttered.

"I see." Lockhart said.

_And woe were the hearts of the brethren, for he came not back again._ The quote came unbidden into Harry's head. Once again it felt as though his vision doubled. As he looked between the House Cat and the Peacock-that-Wasn't-a-JubJub-Bird, Harry remembered his question from before.

Was he the Vorpal Blade or the JubJub Bird? It seemed important somehow... the idea of no longer being able to fly for the Quidditch team paled in comparison.

"Wait. Professor Lockhart." Harry said. He tried to turn his words into something that would lead him out of his confused state. "What did you say to Umbridge during that detention?"

"I beg your pardon?" Lockhart sputtered.

"Accidental magic?" Harry prompted.

McGonagall looked from Harry to Lockhart with a closed-off expression. "Harry." She said warningly. "I'm sorry, Professor Lockhart, but what is he referring to?"

Lockhart laughed it off. "My, my, Harry. Always the showman. It's nothing Minerva, just Harry here trying to scratch his Fame Bite."

McGonagall's lips thinned. "I see. Well, Professor, if you insist on discussing the matter now? Harry, if you would, please see me again at another time. My door is always open." She said, and the words seemed to carry a weight to it.

"Right. I'll let myself out, then…" Harry agreed, remembering the various times McGonagall's door appeared to be locked ...or maybe just closed. He glanced at Lockhart, hoping he might answer his question about the detention, but Lockhart seemed intent on staying with McGonagall.

Once in the hallway, Harry remembered belatedly that he wanted to mention Tom Riddle to McGonagall, but it appeared to be too late. He sighed, and just as he was about to search about for Riddle's latest haunt, he caught sight of a nearby portrait. The portrait seemed to be waving at him- rather frantically, too, as though he needed to show Harry something really important.

Harry cautiously stepped forward, listening to the portraits talk. "The look that boy gave me- it was quite unnatural! I asked The Widow (Harry remembered that to be the subject of the portrait nearest the headmaster's office) to tell me when he came out again. So I could be quite far away, you understand," the witch was saying. "But it seems like the wretch is still in there! What do you suppose the headmaster is up to?"

Harry stared in the direction of the Headmaster's office, and wondered the same thing.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o0o

(Tom)

Albus Dumbledore sat before me, while the eyes of all the former headmasters bore holes into my back. We'd been at a stalemate ever since he told me to sit down and offered a candy (which I refused). He sat, and looked at me in a presumptuous, omnipotent sort of way, his eyes twinkling like mad. He likely imagined himself a friendly grandfather-like figure. I glared at him with suspicion.

I may have not remembered much from my (or should I call him 'my creator's) original time in Hogwarts, but the Dark Lord had taken special care to warn me of the Headmaster. _He will doubt you._ Voldemort had said. _He will watch your every move, but he will hide it behind a wall of kindness and concern._

I didn't know if he had reason to question my actions or not (likely he did), but Dumbledore had certainly attacked with kindness.

"What do you want from me?" I was tired of waiting, and the old fool wasn't saying anything. Still.

"I wanted to hear from you. With the second week of classes finished, I thought to ask you a question. How do you find Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked.

"It is the best school for of witchcraft and wizardry in the country." I shrugged. I didn't care; I had the Dark Lord's knowledge of magic. Even the scraps he loaned me would outstrip most. I could learn from the textbooks easily... I sat, watching the silver instruments click and whir. "The library is... a wonder." The words slipped out, a tiny truth.

Dumbledore at last settled in his chair, relaxing at those words and a smile touching his lips. "That it is." He agreed, and he allowed a moment of silence to pass. "Surely you were not sent to inspect the library, however..."

The Dark Lord's words came back to me again. _He has grown sly in his old age... He will no longer will he suspect you outright, or accuse you of thievery or misdeeds like a small child to be cowed._

I shrugged. "Perhaps not. But the library is easily the best part of the school."

"Would you care to share your findings?" He asked softly, as though we were friends. "Sometimes, the simple act of informing another mind is all that we need for the seeds of our research to come into bloom."

Did he know of my presence in his office, as Ginny suggested?

I tilted my head, and did not meet the headmaster's eyes. I had made little progress at all and could not hope to discover anything from this meeting. Dumbledore would not tell me about his journeys to find out about 'the other Tom Riddle's past.' I could not tell him of my purpose.

Dumbledore sat in amiable silence for a while, indifferent to my sullen refusal to converse. "And, how do you find the students?"

"None of them see me for what I am. We can hardly become friends." I answered.

"Not all of them, Tom."

I bristled. He used my name like a weapon. "Harry Potter is interested in me." I said. "As is Ginnerva Weasley. Why is that?"

"Perhaps they have too strong a connection with you and your blood." He said softly.

I smiled cruelly, imagining the light fading from his eyes and his lips stilling in a final grimace—the thought of a painful death for Dumbledore made my heart flutter. "Perhaps your spellwork is failing."

"You spend too much time alone, Tom. You need to attend classes... to communicate with your housemates. The Tom Riddle I knew…" His twinkling blue eyes met mine, and I took a sharp breath. He held the information I most wanted.

"…He took great pleasure and pride in being able to help his peers, or at the very least being seen helping. He was often found tutoring his classmates, learning things from them that they never would have suspected." Dumbledore perhaps mistook my interest for good natured-ness, for his voice became quite cheerful and animated. "Every teacher thought him the model student. Such an ability could help one's peers immensely...Bonds of trust will support you when ties of fear will only strangle you, Tom"

Ah, but there was his mistake. _Severus tells me he is an idealistic fool… He will appeal to your 'good nature' or to your desire to fit in. He will make siding alongside him seem the most natural thing in the world, never understanding that his kindness is condescending. That his pretty words an insult to your intelligence and your background._ The Dark Lord knew Dumbledore best after all, it seemed.

"I have nothing to tell you."

"I encourage you to speak of anything that might help the other students...or those outside these walls to escape horrible fates."

My jaw clenched. "You try my patience. I have nothing to do with anyone's fates. I'm merely a pawn." Let him think on that.

"Tell me what you can, Tom. It's not too late to change—any information you have could help the greater good." He did not raise his voice, but still it carried. He probably imagined himself to sound saddened, or earnest.

"Information?" I scoffed. "You might as well ask me, 'What are Voldemort's plans?' I don't know." I snapped.

Only to be told, "You assume that I think your only worth is what you can reveal about him, and the Death Eaters he controls. But that is not so, Tom; I want you to realize that you have unique abilities all your own. Voldemort has never loved, but you? I think you might. You are not chained to his past… your choices from this day-"

I laughed, and interrupted, "That's ridiculous. Love? You really are a fool. You think by allowing me a second education, by encouraging me to 'love' the students or the school that something will change? That I will give you the information necessary to bring down the Dark Lord?" I sneered. "I know what you're really after. What information you seek when you leave the school." My voice was a low hiss.

Surely, Dumbledore was fishing for information. The one questing he could not ask, not without tipping his hand, and possibly alerting the Dark Lord. 'What Horcrux were you, Tom Riddle? How many others are there?' Those hidden, dark secrets that he cannot trust me enough to ask.

I stood up, eager to leave. To find a place to be alone, to read the books stolen from this very office. My eyes burned with anger. "If I may be excused, headmaster."

"Go to your classes, Tom." Dumbledore ordered. "And learn to love."

I stormed out of the office, listening to the other headmaster's portraits bemoan my behavior. I had had the books in my possession the whole time, and the fool hadn't even noticed.

But where to read them? I considered taking them to the library, or holing up in the Slytherin dungeons after all, but no… these books were too private for that.

I would make my way to the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Today Dumbledore's office had appeared on the second floor, not so very far from the Hospital Wing. I could find my way after getting my bearings by the placement of the portraits. So long as I avoided the Poltergeist, my way was as good as set. I checked _Magick Most Evile_ and _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, and finding that they were still safely tucked into the bag, I walked on.

The bathroom was as deserted as ever, thanks to Moaning Myrtle. The nickname made me smile even as I regretted the lost opportunity- if I'd played my cards right the first time, I could have tormented her into becoming a furious, wretched thing.

"Who's there?" Moaning Myrtle demanded as I opened the door. I heard water from somewhere in the bathroom, a steady stream of drops dripping. "Oh, it's you. Another _boy._ What've you come in here for?" she said, her voice somewhat high and petulant.

Myrtle's presence was cold and intruding, like a veil of death around the entire room.

It was odd to think of her as such, with her speckled face and dour pout, though I doubted any other student recognized it. Nevertheless, her death hung close to the senses, clouded my eyes.

"Do boys often come to your bathroom, Myrtle?" I asked, smiling as charmingly as I could. Though perhaps making her weep and evacuate would be best...

She sneered through her sullenness, and she raised her chin. "Nobody comes in here!" She shrieked.

I rolled my eyes at that. "Obviously not, seeing that there were three Gryffindors here when last we met- or had you forgotten? Does your death weigh heavily on you?" I stepped forward and felt her shrink back from me. It made me grin sharply.

She began to wail her offense. "Oh that's right, if someone sees Myrtle once every semester that's fair, isn't it? Nobody wants to see her more than that." she gave a high pitched squeak, and dove into a toilet.

Just as I started to make for the proper sink, someone pulled my sleeve and grasped my hand.

I tensed before jerking to the side, violently pushing my elbow into my assailant's ribs. I wanted to pull them forward and slam them to the floor, but my feet weren't so firmly placed, so I settled for escaping their grip.

"You." I closed my eyes with exasperation.

When Myrtle came up again, her voice suddenly changed to a happy gurgle. "Oh, hello Harry...You know, we had just mentioned you... this boy." she pouted at me. "He's the one who chased you out of my bathroom, isn't he?"

Harry held his breath before nodding, mute. I wondered if my blow had hurt him, or if he was wisely keeping quiet.

"You might be right...about what you said before? When you and that girl and the redhead were here." Myrtle said slowly, floating forward and peering at me with shrewd eyes. "He might look like Tom Riddle."

Harry grinned at that. "You know, don't you?" breathless now. So I _had_ hurt him. It served him right.

"Hm, yes..." her voice was quiet and hopeful. "I found out while Haunting Olive Hornby that he was Head Boy after I died..." she cautiously poked her head out. "Did you know Olive Horby?" I saw myself reflected behind her ghostly glasses in the depths of her eyes.

I felt myself shiver. Dumbledore's spell didn't extend to the castle ghosts. It was a wonder none had said anything... unless Dumbledore had ordered them not to. I swallowed hard, and remembered where I was. "No, I didn't."

Myrtle sniffed. "Maybe you ought to be nicer to me. I bet I know all sorts of secrets about your family!" She snuck a look at Harry, who was fascinated by the whole exchange.

"Tell me." Harry said quietly, and from him it was not a rude demand. She would gladly answer him, I knew it, and the thought galled me.

"You remember about Olive, don't you Harry? I told you about my haunting her before...Oh, ages ago, when you were still a first year." Moaning Myrtle's voice was breath and inappropriately coy.

"Second year." Harry corrected.

"Well, he does look like Tom Riddle." At Harry's encouraging nod, bit her lip, and began to twirl her long, lank hair. "He might even know things. Wrong things. He was in Slytherin, you know."

"Enough." I said firmly. "Myrtle, please." I said quietly. "What can he do with the information but...tease...me?" She had been teased while alive, hadn't she? And she hated it. Maybe sympathy would work where threats couldn't.

"Harry wouldn't tease anyone, would you, Harry? Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle, you look like Tom Riddle." She grinned viciously.

My lips thinned. But if that was all she had to say...

"More than fifty years ago!" Myrtle continued. "Just how are you related, anyway?

I imagined worms eating her fleshy cheeks, snakes crawling through her eye sockets, and hatred burned my face red. _But if she's asking questions, she really has nothing else to say._, I told myself. I must be calm…

"I already knew that… Tom Riddle grew up to change his name to Voldemort." He turned to Tom then, "You told me as much in the Chamber. Though I can't seem to remember if I mentioned that it was in there when I told you about second year."

I clenched my jaw. "Well. Since you both are so insistent." I scowled. "I might point out that _I_ was not in the Chamber that year, Harry."

Myrtle nodded at that. "You weren't here at all."

Harry's eyes slid over to Myrtle, and he seemed in that moment more reasonable and calm than I'd seen him yet. Was it because Moaning Myrtle had essentially assured him that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him about me?

"Too true." Harry said quietly, and met Myrtle's gaze.

This little meeting was starting to feel very unwise. I gave a dramatic sigh and let my head fall a bit, and when I looked at Harry again, I had my chagrined smile on. "Well. If Myrtle tells me I'm not welcome, then I suppose I'll be leaving."

I felt Harry's eyes on me, but he said nothing, and made no attempt to follow. Small blessing.

I would find time to read the books later.

o0o0o0o0o0o

After dinner, free time in the common room was always a trial. Students felt they had all kinds of reason to jibe, what with the 'poor, lonely Slytherin boy' routine Dumbledore forced down their throats. Only a few of the smarter ones thought deeper than the compulsion, and those students wisely kept their glances to themselves and their words under wraps. Not Draco Malfoy, though. His family always did encourage loose tongues.

"Potter still bothering you then, Riddle?" Malfoy asked pleasantly, using his 'senior student' voice. Malfoy and other members of the Quidditch team occupied the plush chairs as usual, and the lower classmen were scattered around at desks and less prominent cushy armchairs. Malfoy was well-accustomed to holding conversations like this, and when he spoke, everyone listened. Favor from the Death Eaters carried over well, it seemed. "He was utterly mental during Care for Magical Creatures, did I mention?"

He had. At length. "You may have," I replied, my face and tone impassive.

"Can't figure what his deal is with you. Don't know why he'd bother- obscure and _poor_ wizard like yourself. Maybe he thinks you're a blood traitor like the Weasleys." his lip curled, and his surrounding year mates snorted or chuckled in turn.

I made a mental tally of who laughed—Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, Parkinson, Milicent, Pike, Zabini… and those who didn't. The Greengrass and Carrow sisters, Nott, and Adrian Pucey.

"But then, he _doesn't_ like you, does he? Bet you knew that from the start. Even you know that Slytherins don't associate with Gryffindors." Malfoy said, his voice low and annoying.

"Does he?" Nott asked. "I've seen him seek out Potter in the corridors."

I turned to regard Nott. He had a quiet way about him. He never seemed to associate with Malfoy outright, and he was possibly as solitary as a student could be at Hogwarts. That he spoke out now was interesting- what could he be planning?

I shrugged, and considered my answer. I was not a known relative to a Death Eater, but that had not kept the upper years from approaching me (something that amused me to no ends. So far, I had turned them away with vague answers and flat disinterest).

I remembered the Horcrux book in my school bag, its presence weighing heavily on me. A heady sensation overcame me- I had much more power, much more information than even the highest ranking of the Death Eater's sons and daughters around the common room. The thought made me sit straight and offer only crooked half smiles. The fact did not change even my assigned heritage (vague though Dumbledore's implications might be), however.

The fact remained that all of my knowledge and power hinged on what the Dark Lord had _given_ me. I could not be satisfied with that. The desire to show my hand, to allude to Death Eater connections was stronger now than ever before. How dare Dumbledore assume I would turn coat and come over to his side? I could have the Slytherins to a man, if I only dropped the right hints.

"What I do and whom I talk with is none of your concern," I said, keeping my face indifferent.

From his place at the steps, Zabini shook his head. He was obviously posing there, and making quite a pretty scene. "Why do you even bother with the _fourth year nobody?_" he sneered. "He probably _is_ looking for charity."

Zabini's comment brought smiles from other fourth years. Despite my standing taller than they, and looking comfortably closer to Draco's age than they did, Harper and Max exchanged grins as though I were properly 'humbled.' Rowle, a clever girl if I ever saw one, merely glanced around surreptitiously checking for the others' reactions.

Over the mindless chatter that echoed Zabini's commentary, I began to hear something altogether unrelated. It was soft at first, and I did not hear it so much as feel it trembling in my chest. Then my heart began to hammer as the sounds realigned themselves. _Come._ The words hissed in my ears, and I did not know if I spoke them or heard them.

I stood, ignoring the protests among the Slytherins. Something about the voice reverberated with me, reminded me of something. My inheritance, my past and my very being... I had moved to the portrait-hole before I noticed that I was moving. Resolved now to seek out the voice, I strode more purposefully, and kept my back straight.

I wondered vaguely if anyone would follow, but pushed the thoughts aside. The thing hissed again, _Come._

The thought occurred to me that I was being summoned, that I may soon meet Voldemort's servants. I might not have uncovered any hints of the Prophecy, or killed Dumbledore, but surely I would have more time... Or perhaps Voldemort was unimpressed with the modified memory charm. I would meet them, whoever Voldemort has sent. Then I would return to the familiar halls of Hogwarts where I fit in, if only by deception.

Irritation twisted at the base of my neck, and I fought back the urge to scowl. If Dumbledore saw me meeting with them now...the game could end as soon as it had begun. I would not lose my place here.

I held my breath, and went. I would come out on top; I always did.

* * *

o0o0o0o

**A/N: **so, we have another conversation with Dumbledore, who answers at least one question; he sort of trusts Tom to not kill anyone. Tom admits to being a Horcrux. What does Dumbledore plan? (We also see Tom with other Slytherins...)

Action next chapter. I'm editing and rewriting like mad. Encourage me please? I'm afraid of readers' reaction sometimes...


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